


Homecoming

by ceta346



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Emotional Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Gay Keith (Voltron), I'll warn you though, M/M, Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Parental emotional abuse, Slow Burn, THESE TAGS ARE DEPRESSING BUT THE FIC IS WHOLESOME AND FUNNY, broganes, i forgot to mention this but uh, its sad but also funny, keith doesnt have the best family, kick tho, minor lance/nyma lol, not between lance and keith though, please lmk if something needs to be tagged, possible triggers for future chapters, should i tag both of them being big stupids, underage drinking mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-03-14 12:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13590240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceta346/pseuds/ceta346
Summary: “I’m really confused,” Pidge remarked from behind them both. “It’s a guy named Keith. What’s so bad about him?”“He’s wanted in eighty-six different countries for the fashion crime that is his hair,” Lance muttered bitterly, eyes unable to stray from their target. Hunk filled Pidge in on the real details.“They dated for a while back in high school. But there was a lot of drama, it turned sour, they broke up. Keith dropped out. I gotta say, Lance took it pretty hard--”“Hunk,” Lance cut in, embarrassed. “Keep it brief, would you?”





	1. And Suddenly You're Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance gets an unwelcome surprise...

**PRESENT DAY**

 

Her voice was thick over the phone. “I don’t understand,” she pleaded. “Babe, we’re great together! Why would you--why do you want to end it?”  

 

Lance winced at the other end of the call. Resisting the urge to say it’s not you, it’s me, because it really wasn’t her, it  _ was _ him, but she wouldn’t believe him--  

 

“Well, Heather, I-- I’m sorry. I know it was bad timing.”   

 

“It’s the day before our one-month anniversary, Lance!”  

 

He hissed out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I know, and while I was thinking about that a few days ago, I realized that I’m just not happy with you. This month’s been fun but...that’s it. Just fun. Nothing else.”  _ And I don’t want to lead you on anymore than I already have. So I’m ending it.  _

 

“Jerk!” she cried. Not the worst insult he’d ever received. Lance could picture what the poor girl looked like on the other side of the phone. At least he’d had the decency not to break up with her while she was at work. He’d done that before to another girl who worked with Hunk. His friend had reported that she had cried in the back and refused to work. This way, at least Heather could sob in peace. 

 

“You fucker,” she said quieter. “I made you a cake to celebrate.”

 

Lance felt like his insides were rotting. “You deserve someone better,” he told her, before pulling the phone away from his ear and hanging up. He was glad it was over. He felt like fifty pounds had been lifted off of him.

 

Breaking up with people was never something he enjoyed, but it was a necessary evil. He wasn’t some guy who shied away from confrontation, that was for sure. 

 

Still, just because he wasn’t afraid of doing it didn’t mean he got used to it. Especially the crying. A lot of his exes had cried. (Sometimes he’d cry too.) Lance covered his face with a pillow as he laid on his bed.  _ It’s over it’s over it’s over, _ he told himself.  _ You ended it.  _

 

He sighed into his pillow, rolling onto his side. With every wave of relief came a storm of guilt. It was his fault for flirting with her, she’d been led on from the very beginning, but on the other hand,  _ she’d  _ kissed  _ him, _ she’d asked him out, all Lance had ever done was say a pick-up line and a whole lot of  _ yes _ . 

 

It wasn’t his fault his charming flirtations combined with his flawless face reduced anything with two legs into stuttering messes of hormonal energy. Right? Right.

 

His phone buzzed with a text suddenly in the silence of his room. Lance brought it to his face, panicked for a second--but no, it was just Hunk. Lance breathed out in relief.

 

**Hunk:**

hey man. did you do it yet?

 

**Me:**

yeah, she didnt take it well

 

**Hunk:**

:-( yikes im sorry man. lemme take you shopping to make you feel better? how about in an hour

 

**Me:**

that sounds so good. what would i do without you

 

**Hunk:**

i dunno die probably

 

He set down his phone and closed his eyes. His friends were coming in an hour. He didn’t like looking like a wreck in front of them, even though he was sure he’d embarrassed himself in worse ways before. But this was different. It felt like an invasion of privacy for anyone to see him like this. 

  
In the end, the desire to look half-presentable for his friends was what motivated him to move from his bed. He made a quick bowl of cereal and put on some actual clothes instead of the old shirt and boxers he’d been wearing all day.  _ At least I don’t have a roommate, _ he reasoned with himself.  _ They’d probably leave anyway though, because I’m A) intimidatingly beautiful and B) really depressing. _ There was a buzz in his pocket.

 

**Hunk:**

on our way! :-) cant wait to see you btw!

  
  


Lance felt a small smile spread onto his face. Leave it to his best friend to be cute and cheer him up. Just the fact that he  _ had  _ a friend who was doing this for him made Lance’s heart hurt a little less. Knowing Hunk, Pidge would be joining them, so Lance brought enough snacks for all three of them. It didn’t matter where they were going, when Lance was with Pidge and Hunk, there was guaranteed to be snacking. Even in a mall. He remembered one time they’d been caught bringing a full tub of ice cream into a movie theater. The manager had kicked them out without refunds. 

 

His hunch was right. Lance could spot Pidge’s small form in the back seat of Hunk’s monster of a car as they pulled up the driveway. He happily whooped as he opened the front door. He’d always liked Hunk’s car-- it was unabashedly yellow and boxy, the exhaust pipe coughed like a smoker, and there were dents in the ceiling from who knows what-- but it was full of good memories.    
  


“Let’s go shopping!” He exclaimed excitedly as he pulled on a seat belt. Hunk laughed and put the gear into drive.

“We have to stop at a GameStop,” Pidge told them from the back.

“Yeah, okay, after Forever 21 though.”   
  


“And Le Creuset,” insisted Hunk. “This boy needs some more kitchenware, after  _ someone _ decided to put my totally-not-dishwasher-safe kitchen knives in the washer.”

“Get over it already,” complained Pidge from the back.

The conversation went like that until they got to the mall, where Lance got first pick of the stores. He stood in the middle of the wide hallway, hands on his hips, taking this choice very seriously. 

He pointed to the first one he saw. “H&M!” He shouted, ignoring the people around him who’d given him startled looks. The glowing sign of the clothing store seemed to beckon to him. “Look, they’re having a big sale!” His friends, of course, agreed to go along with Lance’s whim. Soon enough, they were deep in the store’s sale racks, joking and slowly grabbing more and more clothes to add to their cart. Lance didn’t even think he was going to buy any of it, but that was irrelevant. They’d started getting a few annoyed looks from the clerks. Probably because Lance was pulling down all of the mannequins’ pants when they weren’t looking. But that just made it more fun. 

In fact, he was having a fantastic time until something stopped him dead in his tracks.

The last place Lance thought he would find his worst ex was at the H&M in his local strip mall. Those fifty pounds he felt he had shed after his latest break up were suddenly back, except  _ tripled. _

But there he was. Browsing in the jeans section, back unknowingly turned to them.  _ What the actual shit. There’s no way that’s him.  _

“Fuck,” Lance hissed, scrambling to hide behind the nearest object, which happened to be a headless mannequin. His shoes squeaked on the shiny tile as he scurried to remain unseen.

“...Lance?” Pidge looked up at him quizzically from their phone screen. “What’re you doing?”

“It’s  _ Keith,”  _ he whisper-yelled to his friend unbelievingly. “In a fucking H&M. I thought this was a safe space.”

“Who’s Keith?” Pidge asked at a carelessly normal volume. Lance’s eyes bulged as he shushed his friend frantically. 

“Not so loud!” he protested quietly, risking a glance behind him to make sure Keith hadn’t overheard anything. The last time he’d felt this jittery was when he’d downed four espressos like a fool in order to write an essay overnight. Lance got lucky. His ex still had his back turned to them, scoping out what looked like a rack of skinny jeans. What their commotion  _ had  _ managed to attract, however, was Hunk. 

“Hey guys,” he greeted casually. Before he could say any more, Lance leapt up from his hiding spot, cupped a hand around Hunk’s mouth, and pulled his friend down alongside him in a crouch. They were just tall enough to see over the display stand that the mannequin stood on, Keith standing right between where both of its feet were stationed. Lance gestured to the problem.

“It’s fuckin’ Keith,” He told Hunk. But in reality, he was still trying to convince himself.  _ It’s Keith. It’s Keith. It’s Keith. _ Hunk’s eyes became big in surprise. 

“Are you sure?” He replied softly. Lance scoffed.

“Oh, I’d recognize that mullet anywhere.”

He looked at Keith’s figure again. It had to have been years since they had last seen each other, but there were no doubts in Lance’s mind. It was most certainly the worst possible person he could have run into at an H&M. 

“I’m really confused,” Pidge remarked from behind them both. “It’s a guy named Keith. What’s so bad about him?” 

“He’s wanted in eighty-six different countries for the fashion crime that is his hair,” Lance muttered bitterly, eyes unable to stray from their target. Hunk filled Pidge in on the real details.

“They dated for a while back in high school. But there was a lot of drama, it turned sour, they broke up. Keith dropped out. I gotta say, Lance took it pretty hard--”   
  


“Hunk,” Lance cut in, embarrassed. “Keep it brief, would you?”

“Sorry, you’re right,” apologized Hunk understandingly. “Anyway. Keith dropped out. I thought that was the last of him. Guess not. Hey, Lance, I thought Keith just left town or something?” He looked to Lance for confirmation.    
  


“Me too,” the tallest of them replied, narrowing his eyes as he stared across the hall. Pidge asked the obvious question they were all wondering.

“So what the heck is he doing in the Mapleview mall’s H&M?” 

The three of them silently observed as Keith put down a pair of jeans and looked like he was gonna start walking away. Just a few more steps and he would be out of Lance’s life forev--

“Can I help you folks?”

Lance screeched in surprise, wrapping his arms around Hunk on instinct. The mall clerk who had spoken looked as if they already regretted coming over. Quick as a whip, Lance looked over to see if Keith had noticed the noise.

They locked eyes. Keith’s were still impossibly indigo, and even though they didn’t meet gazes for longer than a second, it was enough. Lance saw those eyes widen with recognition, even as he himself was turning away with a squeak. Every nerve in his body was alive and telling him to bolt before Keith pulled a sword out of his butt and murdered him. _What if Keith came over?! What would I even say oh god what if hE CAME OVER--_

Bravely, Lance risked a glance over his shoulder to assess the situation.

Keith and his mullet had vanished.

Vanished like fucking Batman. 

In the space where a boy had just been, Lance only saw emptiness. And he became acutely aware of the cheesy bubblegum pop music that had been playing on the mall speakers the entire time, and of all the tension in his body. _ This is fine, _ he told himself.  _ You’ll probably never see him again. It’s a big city, and this isn’t a romcom. You aren’t going to run into him in the rain, and he sure as hell won’t offer you his umbrella. There’s no destiny putting you two together because you’re destined to be. If anything, you’re destined  _ not  _ to be. _

“Lance,” Hunk called, who was already standing. He pointed behind him with a thumb at some sliding doors. “The clerk asked us to leave.”

“We--well, mostly you, were being a nuisance,” added Pidge at Lance’s aghast expression. “They asked us very politely, actually, considering how much of a fuss you were making.”

Lance sputtered defensively. “Wh--pfft, I was not--I wasn’t causing a  _ fuss,  _ Pidge.”

“Sorry, Lance,” grumbled Pidge with a sigh, not sounding apologetic at all. “You know I worked in retail for months. I just can’t sympathize with you.”

Lance felt downright distraught. “I was caught off-guard. I mean, would  _ you  _ be okay seeing your worst and probably most lethal ex in a place you’d never expect? The only place I would ever imagine that guy shopping in is a Hot Topic, and we don’t even have one in this mall! I avoid those like the plague anyway.” 

“You’re a drama queen,” Pidge insisted, stretching. “And you have too many exes. One day, they’ll be the death of you. Now come on, let’s leave before we get in any more trouble.”

“But what if we run into him in another store--”    
  


“ _ Lance,”  _ Hunk insisted like he was his friend’s mother. “I don’t want them to call security or something!” Lance groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Fiiiiine,” he reluctantly complied, allowing himself to be dragged by the sleeve out of H&M. His head was still reeling, trying to wrap itself around what had just happened. Keith Kogane, after what, three years? Four? Lance found himself trying to remember every little detail of Keith that’d he’d spotted in those few seconds. He still had that godforsaken mullet. The guy had gotten a lot taller, too. But so had Lance.

Those  _ eyes, _ though. They were still as recognizable as they’d been in high school, still that weird almost-purple that had captivated him when he was younger. Lance wished he didn’t remember them so clearly, but now that he’d seen them again, it was as if he’d never had time to forget. But something had changed about them, too. They were...he couldn’t put his finger on it. Older wasn’t quite the right word, but it was the only one he could think of. 

Pidge was the next to choose a store, and Lance followed his friends into a GameStop. Usually he was just as passionate as Pidge when it came to video games, especially retro ones, but after what had just happened? There was no way Lance could bounce back from  _ that  _ in the span of one night _.  _ The rest of the evening went a similar way. He just felt...disconnected from everything. He knew Pidge and Hunk had no reason to take the chance encounter hard, they had no reason to let it ruin their evenings. Nothing had even happened, and they weren’t even as sure that it was even him. Lance knew that he really didn’t have a reason either. But he couldn’t stop himself from sulking. A part of him felt bad. He was being a party pooper. But the larger part of him was swimming in a huge jumble of emotions that he couldn’t sort himself, and  _ that  _ part of him wanted to go home and watch  _ The Notebook  _ while crying into a bowl of garlicky popcorn _.  _

“Alright,” said Hunk after an hour of hanging around Sulky Lance. “I think we’re all shopped out for tonight. What do you guys say to heading out?” Lance didn’t miss the way Hunk’s gaze dragged over him like he was looking at a stray kitten. Normally, he would protest such pity but honestly? He just wanted to go home. 

“Sounds good to me,” replied Pidge, who was practically swathed in shopping bags. Lance could barely see their arms underneath all of them.

“Lance?” Hunk checked in, raising an eyebrow. Wordlessly, he agreed with them, and they started ambling toward the parking lot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING GANG!!!
> 
> feedback is always super appreciated, also i HAVE to give a shoutout to my good friend julia for supporting me and helping me figure out what the heck this story is even going to be. They!! Are!! An!! Angel!! here's their tumblr: www.amberarts.tumblr.com


	2. And Suddenly You've Found Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith's turn

**PRESENT DAY**

 

“Relax,” Shiro soothed, setting Keith’s single duffel bag on the guest bed. “You just got back. You don’t have to worry about getting a job just yet.” Keith looked around the sparse room he’d be staying in. There was no way he was gonna stay cooped up in here. It was nice, like the rest of the place, but it was small. And Keith had spent enough of his life hiding in a bedroom.

 

“But Shiro--” Keith tried.

 

“Ah--no buts. I know it’s a lot to ask of you _ , _ but could you maybe just chill for a little bit?” Keith frowned. This whole situation was awkward enough. He was only trying to make it better. It felt wrong to just be leeching off of his brother’s hospitality. The last thing Keith wanted to do was be one of those deadbeat twenty somethings who couldn’t be independent.

 

“At least,” Shiro’s mouth stretched into a smile and he rubbed the back of his head. “Let me take you out for lunch, Keith. For goodness’ sakes, last night you were so tired from your flight, we barely got to talk. Let’s catch up.” 

 

Keith had forgotten how well his brother’s smile worked on him. It was exactly the same as their grandfather’s. That is to say, incredibly sweet and hard to say no to. He rolled his eyes and muttered an agreement.

 

“Great,” Shiro replied, not at all put off by his younger sibling’s abrasiveness. “I’ll get the keys. I have errands I need to run anyway.”

 

Keith was not at all surprised when his new roommate pulled up to the apartment complex entrance in what was essentially a minivan.

 

“I don’t understand why you need such a big car,” he muttered as he situated himself in the passenger seat.

 

“For friends,” Shiro answered lightly, looking forward at the road. “I’m also an uber on the side.” Keith side-eyed his brother. If he remembered correctly, Shiro was a bartender as well. He bet that those two occupations went pretty well together, getting people drunk and then offering to drive them home as long as they paid. Not that his brother would ever get anyone purposely drunk. He was too nice for that. But it sure was convenient. No wonder Shiro could afford such a swanky apartment.

 

“So where exactly are we going?” Keith asked, finding that he couldn’t remember any places in town.  _ Has it really been that long? _ He wondered.

 

“A nice restaurant,” his brother replied vaguely, tapping the wheel with a finger as he waited for a red light to turn green. “I don’t think we ever went there before you moved, but I’ve been there a few times. I think it’s new, actually. Built while you were gone.”

 

Shiro then continued to point out things they passed on the road, saying things like, “Remember that?” “ _ That’s _ been gone for years now,” and “This was still being developed before you left.”

 

Keith rested his forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window. He really didn’t care about new places and old buildings. Technically, it’d been his choice to come back, and true, he’d missed America-- but now that he was back in this place, in this city, it was just claustrophobic. Shiro was here, and so was a great college. Yeah. But so were a lot of rotten memories. Halfway across the world, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal.  _ So what,  _ he’d thought.  _ It’s a big city. And all that crap was years ago. I don’t care about it anymore.  _

 

But the dread of seeing people he didn’t want to had been slowly eating him up ever since he stepped off of that plane with a single bag of his belongings. He was here. This was real. And last night it had sunk in very quickly that his delusions of not caring were just that. Delusions.

 

Shiro continued to say things about the city, and Keith zoned out a bit, letting his eyes unfocus as he just listened to the foreign sound of his brother’s voice. It’d been so long since he’d heard it in real life, and not through a phone. A peculiar thing to miss, but one he had missed regardless. 

 

_ This is why I’m here, _ Keith thought to himself firmly.  _ So for God’s sake, get over your stupid anxiety and act like you’re happy to see him.  _

 

“We’re here,” Shiro announced, putting the car in park. He looked down playfully at his passenger. “Keith, stop daydreaming and get out of the car.”

 

“Wasn’t daydreaming,” he weakly protested, opening the door. God, it was hot. It had to be near the nineties. Keith hadn’t felt this heat in literal years. Grinning, Shiro put an arm around Keith’s shoulders and led him into the restaurant. It  _ was _ nice. He could tell from the well-dressed employees and jazzy music that the food here wasn’t going to be cheap, and he knew Shiro was going to insist on paying. A host led them to their table. A quick glance over the menu confirmed Keith’s fears about the prices. And this was only the  _ lunch _ menu. 

 

“So we’re splitting the check ri--” Shiro held up The Hand ™ , and Keith immediately quieted.  _ Stupid authoritative hand, _ he thought. 

 

“Keith, you didn’t even bring your wallet,” he deadpanned. Keith looked down at his empty pockets, realizing the truth. Shit. 

 

“I’ll pay you back?” he offered. Shiro shook his head with a smile.

  
“You need to learn how to let people do stuff for you, baby bro. God, I never thought I’d have to say that to you.” He looked at Keith proudly. “You’ve definitely matured.” 

 

Keith felt his face heat up. “Thanks,” he mumbled, unsure of how to take the praise. Personally, he didn’t  _ feel  _ different, but if Shiro thought so, maybe his time away had done more than he’d thought.    
  
Shiro chuckled. “You’re still as awkward as ever, though.” 

  
He resisted the urge to reach across their table and slap the stupid grin off of that face. Instead, he busied himself with searching for something cheap to order on the menu. Shiro looked over his as well, and for a few moments, it was silent save for the quiet mumblings of other customers and music playing over an unseen radio. Keith also took the opportunity to get a good look at Shiro.

 

It’d been so long since they’d been in the same room together, but Shiro had barely changed. He was mature, responsible, stable. Anyone who knew him thought he was going somewhere special. It wasn’t hard to see why Keith had pretty much idolized him as a child. Unlike Keith, Shiro had remained virtually unchanged. Even appearance-wise, the only new development was the scar going across the bridge of his nose. Something Keith didn’t want to think about. After their waiter came over to take their orders, Keith lost his excuse to avoid the attentions of his family. 

Shiro folded his hands on the table and stared at Keith expectantly. “Sooooo,” he started. “Tell me all about Japan. Did you like it there better?” 

 

Keith thought for a moment. Even though the question had been inevitable, he hadn’t thought about an answer. 

 

“Uhhhh, I mean, it’s certainly different from the US. That’s for sure.” Shiro nodded, letting him continue. “And I guess, I don’t know, there weren’t a lot of kids my age in my neighborhood, so that was nice. We had a cat.”

 

After a few beats of silence, Shiro’s eyebrows drooped. “What else?” he pressed. “I mean, you spent a good chunk of your life there! Any funny stories? What was the food like?”   
  


“Lots of fish,” Keith answered nonchalantly. “And, funny stories, not really. Honestly I spent most of my time caring for Grandpa, going to school, and working. Not much free time. Grandpa’s doing great, by the way.” Keith smiled a bit. “For an eighty-two year old man, he is surprisingly spry.”    
  


Shiro shrugged. “You know they say that eating fish regularly in your diet increases your lifespan?”

 

“Yeah, well, I guess that guy’s living proof.”

 

The conversation went on like that for a while, and slowly Keith became more talkative. Shiro had always been able to pry him open like an oyster when he wanted to. Keith recounted his average experience of working at a 100-yen store, the time he’d gone hiking on one of the mountains by himself for a weekend, how school was different there than in the USA, et cetera. It was nice to talk about it with Shiro, whose enthusiasm was unwavering. Keith knew Shiro had always wanted to visit, but his brother was still in college, at the same school Keith had applied for. He said he was saving his money to visit their grandfather after he graduated, when he had more free time.

 

They skipped over the less pretty details, like how Keith had ended up in Japan in the first place. A discussion for another time.

 

“I still want to go looking for a job,” Keith insisted as they walked out of the building an hour later, stomachs full. “I’m not a kid anymore, I can take care of myself.”

 

Shiro sighed, putting both hands in his pockets. “I know you can,” he agreed. “I’m not opposed to it, you’re just in a such a  _ rush _ . What, did Japan not teach you how to take things slow?”

 

“Well, I’m not gonna sit on my butt all day and waste power and food you pay for,” Keith crossed his arms, stopping outside the car. “It’s not fair to you.” Shiro opened his mouth to protest again, but he hesitated. His eyebrows were ticked downwards in the stubborn way Keith knew so well. It was the sign that Shiro was giving in.

 

“Fine,” he grumbled after a moment. “I’ll drive you to the mall. Those places always have job openings, and they’re not that hard to get.”

 

“Thank you,” Keith breathed, feeling like a rock had been lifted off of his chest. One less thing to feel guilty about while he was here. 

 

“Yeah, thank me in a week when you’re dealing with a bratty little girl and her mother in a  _ Justice _ .”

 

Keith glared at Shiro as hard as he could, his brother just snickered.

 

“Ah, you really have changed,” he said under his breath. Louder, he mentioned, “You would’ve never asked to get a job before you left.”

 

“I was sixteen,” Keith replied. “And I was really stupid.”

 

“One of those things is still true.”   
  


“Don’t push me.” 

 

Shiro snorted unbelievingly. That was fine with Keith. He was more than okay with letting Shiro know he’d been taking martial arts classes for the last three years  _ the hard way. _

 

“Still,” Shiro continued. “It’s good to see you have your head on straight.” 

 

Yeah, well. That remained to be seen. 

 

He was dropped off in front of the food court entrance. His brother went off to do whatever errands he needed to get done. He would just have to text his brother if he found an application early.

 

Being in an American mall again was kind of surreal. Keith had gotten so used to Japanese stores, seeing  _ Forever 21  _ and  _ JC Penney _ felt weird. He’d never been the most avid about shopping, and it showed. He didn’t remember most of the stores here. It was probably a good thing that not a lot of them were hiring. Shiro must’ve been wrong for once in his life. It was in the middle of summer, after all. A lot of them were probably full with teenagers. The first store he saw with a notice for hiring was a Justice.

 

Nope. Not doing that.

 

There was a Claire’s hiring, but he didn’t know how to pierce ears. Piers One was open too, but he didn’t know anything about furniture. Subway….could be a backup. The next store he staked out was an H&M. 

 

Not really ideal, but it was the best option he had so far. He walked into the store, intent on finding some attendant to talk to about getting an application. Some bubbly pop music was playing quietly over the speakers, and Keith silently hoped that he could change it if he ended up working in this place. He also noticed, with some confusion, that a lot of the mannequins had their pants pulled down. He eventually found someone at a cash register near the jeans section. 

 

“Uh, hi,” he greeted as amicably as he could. The cashier, who’d been looking behind them with a scowl, whipped around. “I saw you guys were taking applications? Could I get one?”

 

They nodded quickly, reaching down below the register to retrieve something. Poor guy looked like he’d had a long day. 

When they came up again, they were holding the papers. “Here,” he said. “If you could return it within the week, that would be ideal. Now excuse me, I have to deal with some customers.” They turned to walk off, but then hesitated. The employee narrowed his eyes at Keith for a second.

 

“You didn’t come with three others, did you?”

 

“Er...no?”

 

The clerk sighed, giving Keith a waning smile. “Okay. Have a nice day, sir.” 

 

“Oh. Alright.” Keith thanked them for the application, and was about to leave, when some jeans caught his eye. Even though he didn’t have money with him, it didn’t mean he couldn’t browse, right? He’d never really considered shopping at an H&M before but...huh. Keith ran his hands over the dyed denim. These jeans were  _ nice. _

 

Keith saw in the corner of his eye as the clerk walked over somewhere behind him and cleared their throat before in a very fake cheerful tone, they asked if they could help whoever was being annoying. Keith felt bad for them, but he figured the best thing he could do was get out of their hair. He was about to walk away when a sudden noise caught his attention. Surprised, he turned around to take a look. What was going on? The clerk looked like they were barely holding it together, staring at three customers hiding behind a--

 

Oh fuck no. 

 

It’d been years. But Keith would recognize those eyes anywhere.  He’d never seen a pair so blue. Something unwanted rose in his chest, and suddenly, Keith found himself doing what he often did-- he was running. He was  _ so  _ out of there. Before he was even out of the store, Keith was scrambling to take out his phone, putting in his password, and calling Shiro. His brother, bless his heart, picked up on the first ring.

 

“Hey,” he greeted jovially on the other side. “That was quick. Did you get some applications?”

 

“Are you close? Pull up in front of the H&M,” Keith demanded breathlessly. His heart was thumping loudly in his chest, filling his ears with the sound. Reminding him, reminding him, reminding him of  _ him. _ “I need to get out of here.”

 

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice dripped with concern. “What’s going on?”

 

“I’ll tell you in the car. But we need to leave.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you for reading!! feedback is always appreciated


	3. Summer Dreams...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one's a little short, sorry! and i know it only raises more questions wgfhjhrvn

**THREE YEARS AGO**

 

Lance had been going into his junior year of high school when he first met Keith. They’d shared summer school gym class together. Lance hadn’t had any friends in the class, but that wasn’t a problem, he made new ones to compensate. There wasn’t really anyone in his class who  _ didn’t  _ like him, or at least find him amusing.

 

Except for Keith.

 

Keith was...well, he was weird. He didn’t talk to anyone, and the others kind of poked fun at him for it. No one ever wanted to partner up with him for anything, and he showed the same disinterest. In fact, Lance wouldn’t have even given Keith a second thought if not for one indisputable fact: Keith was the fastest runner in the class. And it was annoying.

 

Whenever they went out to the track to run laps, Keith was always first. He didn’t do a half-ass jog in talkative packs like everyone else. Sometimes he didn’t even walk the curves (despite the teacher’s instruction), electing to instead run the entire loop. Whether he meant to or not, he was showing off. It was like he was  _ trying _ to provoke Lance. 

 

It was one such day, when Keith had decided to lap him for the second time in fifteen minutes, he decided he’d had enough of it. As soon as Keith was about to pass him, he started keeping pace. The friends he’d been walking with called out, but soon their confusion dissolved into snickering.   
  


Lance jogged in the lane to the right of Keith. Keith was a fast jogger, but Lance kept up easily with his long legs. They ran half the track in silence, the only sounds being of the wind, their footfalls, and jagged breathing.

 

And then Keith began to run faster. Lance peeked at him in the corner of his eye. Keith had yet to even acknowledge him, but he _had_ to know he was there. Was running faster a challenge? Was this a race? It didn’t matter. Lance made it one. With a little effort, he caught up as they went around a curve. But Keith kept pushing. Was he trying to lose Lance? _Well then, this guy’s in for a surprise,_ he thought. _I didn’t do middle school track for nothing._ They were close to sprinting now. Lance was so close to Keith he could tug on that little ponytail, if he wanted to. It was tempting.

 

“You keepin’ up, Mullet?” he teased, voice a little raspy, but still full of cockiness. The name had come out of his mouth without thinking. Lance didn’t even know if the hairstyle was remotely close to a mullet, he hadn’t really paid that much attention to it before. 

 

Keith finally spared him a look. The boy huffed, and sped up even more. Lance cracked a smile. So  _ that _ was how it was gonna be.

 

From then on, Keith and Lance ran together. Well, Lance ran with Keith. Keith didn’t really care if he was there or not. Lance was really the only one who talked, too.

 

“Let’s play a game,” he suggested one time, on their third lap. “It’s called smash or pass. I tell you a pick-up line, you tell me if you’d  _ smash _ or  _ pass _ .”

 

“How about you just mind your own business?” Keith suggested back. 

 

That was the first time Keith had ever talked to him. Lance saw it as improvement.

 

The next week was their badminton unit.

 

“Alright!” barked their gym teacher. “Everyone, partner up! We’re doin’ two on two!” Usually Lance went with one of his other peers, but today...he glanced over to Keith, who was leaning against a wall, not even attempting to look for a badminton partner. What a weirdo. 

 

Before he knew it his feet were walking in that direction and he was shouting, “Hey! Keith! Be my partner!”

 

Keith, looking fairly alarmed, glared at Lance.

 

“What do you want?” he growled. 

 

“Duh. To be your partner. Are you deaf or something?” Lance looked at Keith like he was an idiot, which to be fair, was always how he looked at Keith.

 

The boy scoffed and pushed off of the wall. “Whatever. I don’t know what your deal is, but if you’re trying to annoy me, you better watch yourself. Go grab the rackets.”

 

Lance whooped, sending a fist in the air. That was the most the guy’d ever said to him! This was a success. He decided not to tell Keith that he sucked at badminton. The goal was to win, yeah, but it was more just to have fun. They spent the next half-hour sweating and running around their designated court as Lance missed the birdie again and again. Keith kept yelling at him about it but Lance just rolled with it. 

 

“That was out of bounds, Lance!”

 

“ _ You’re  _ out of bounds!”

 

“Well,  _ you’re _ an idiot!”   
  


“Takes one to know one!”

 

To be honest? He didn’t really know why he was suddenly hangin’ out with Emo McMullet in gym class, but he didn’t really feel like stopping. The more he hung around him, the more he liked it. He was a lot less fake than a lot of people Lance knew, and actually spoke his mind, which was a nice change of pace. Too many people were only friends with Lance because he was funny. It wasn’t exactly  _ bad _ but...Lance wished people would pay more attention to the rest of him.

 

One day, they were running together, and Lance was losing. Keith was friggin’ fast. It wasn’t the first race he’d lost, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. The guy was a sprinter, that was for sure. How was he  _ not _ on the track team?

 

Keith passed the hundred meter line first and immediately slowed into a walk, hands on his head. While he’d lost, at least it appeared that Lance had given the winner a run for his money. When he caught up to Keith’s right, however, the guy gave him a strange look.

  
“Why do you run with me? Why do you talk to me?” he suddenly asked breathlessly. Lance shrugged tiredly, his head leaning back.

  
“Why do you run by yourself?” He gasped back.    
  


“Because I want to,” Keith replied immediately. Lance grinned. 

 

“Then you have my answer to your question.”

 

He laughed at how awkward Keith looked in that moment. Eyes unsure, bugging out slightly, his mouth open, dumbfounded. What, had the guy never had a friend before?

 

The next day Keith waved at him when he entered the locker room.

 

The day after that he smiled when Lance joined him on the track. They raced like they always did. 

 

The day after that, he asked Lance to be his partner for tennis.

 

“Hopefully you’re not as bad at this as you are at badminton,” Keith remarked while tying his shoe.

 

He was.

 

They spent the whole class arguing with each other, but it was  _ fun _ arguing. Mostly just teasing and empty threats and banter.

 

“Believe it or not, Keith, I am a  _ star athlete! _ ”

 

“At what, finger wrestling?”   
  


“Hey, fuck off!”

 

“Fuck you! Stop laughing!”

 

_ “You first!” _

 

One day, while they were running, Keith spoke up. 

 

“What’s that one game you mentioned like three weeks ago?”

  
“What?”

 

“Smash and pass?”   
  


Lance nearly tripped over himself. “Oh my god.”

 

One day, Lance asked Keith for his number.

 

“My what?” Keith asked, halfway through changing his shirt. It was after class. Lance had confronted him in the locker room.

 

“Well I thought,” Lance scratched his nose uncertainly, making sure his voice stayed calm and didn’t reflect exactly how unsure he felt about this. “I mean, the class is almost ending. I figured we’re friends now, right? I wanna stay in touch when we come back to school. So, can I? Have your number, I mean?”

 

For a moment, he’d panicked. Was he overstepping? Was this one of those odd friendships that never went beyond the confines of the summer course? 

 

Keith blinked. And then he was reaching into his backpack and pulling out an ancient flip phone. “Here,” he said quietly. “Just punch your number in, I guess. But I don’t text much.”   
  


“That’s fine,” Lance answered quickly, snatching the phone out of Keith’s outstretched hand. He was just glad Keith hadn’t outright said no.

 

The bell rung. Lance handed the cell phone back to its owner, and he was off to his mom’s waiting car, hands on his backpack straps, a hop in his step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah guys so half of this story WILL BE in the past, telling the story of their first relationship!! think of it as my apology for all the angst happening in the present timeline :^) as always, thanks for reading!


	4. ...Ripped At The Seams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE DOUBLE CHAPTER UPDATE BC I WANTED TO CONNECT THE CHAPTER TITLES OF THREE AND FOUR 
> 
> (they're from the song summer nights by grease bc im a cheeseball)
> 
> anyway enjoy keith and lance being sad

**PRESENT DAY**

 

Keith wondered how he’d ended up here. At a lush bar, drinking a root beer and ignoring everyone around him, jacket collar turned up. Staring at the TV like his life depended on it, even though it was playing a soccer game that Keith didn’t care about. He couldn’t even tell which team was winning.  _ But _ it was the most interesting thing in the whole establishment, and kept his mind off of the constant crowd, and the way people brushed up against his back when they walked past him. He wasn’t even twenty one yet. He couldn’t drink. There had to be one reason, one good reason, to explain why Keith Kogane was perched on a bar stool at--he checked his phone-- 11:39 PM.

  
“One Black Hole!” hollered a voice. Keith’s eyes found the source. It was one very tall, very fit bartender holding a dark alcoholic drink. One bartender with a scar across his face, and a tuft of white hair gelled back into something presentable.

 

Oh, that was right. Shiro was a bartender, and his idiot of a brother had dragged him here. “This is my next best idea,” he had told Keith. “I have some weight around there, and you’re above the legal age to serve alcohol. I think you can do it.”

 

“Do what?” he had replied, knowing full well what his sibling was referring to. The man crossed his arms.

 

“Bartend.” He said it less like he was answering a question and more like he was commanding Keith to do it. 

 

Keith had agreed to come, of course. A job was a job. He could suffer in silence.

 

_ I hate this, _ Keith thought miserably.

 

Shiro caught his eye and raised a single eyebrow, like he’d heard him think it. They both evenly kept the stare until his brother’s attention had to be brought elsewhere. Keith huffed, swishing his latest root beer around. He would make his displeasure _known,_ godammit.

 

This godforsaken place had been busy since the beginning of the shift. Vainly, he’d hoped it would be a slow night. Apparently, everyone in the city had different plans. Namely, to come to this specific bar and be annoying.

 

If by some miracle he survived the night, Keith had half a mind to grab his bag (which, he remembered, he still needed to unpack) and hightail it back to Japan. At least there it was quiet.    
  


There was this mountain of a man next to him who kept accidentally bumping into him and would not  _ shut up.  _ A woman a few stools to his left had a laugh that sounded like a choking lemur. Keith wished he’d had the forethought to stay in the car. How did Shiro manage to work here every night? Even with two bartenders, it was a lot of work. And you had to stay pleasant on top of that. It required a lot of patience, which Keith amended, Shiro had an abundance of.

 

The people around Keith roared as something happened on the television. Someone might’ve scored? He’d missed it. But he couldn’t stop himself from grimacing as the noise pounded into his ears like an insistent knock on a door.

 

Was a job really worth enduring this?

 

_____________

 

If he was being honest with himself, Lance had no idea what he was doing.

  
Well, he did, but he had no idea why he was doing it. Even _ he _ knew it was a bad idea but alas, here he was, outside of a bar waiting for Nyma to finish a cigarette.  


She let out a breath, smoke escaping from her matte lips. She swept her cool gaze over to Lance. 

“You look jumpy,” she noted, propping a booted foot against the brick of the building. Lance pushed his hands as deep into his jacket pockets as they could go. He  _ was. _ It couldn’t be helped. Despite his cool facade, and his assurances to Nyma that he was fine, the nervousness that’d been charged in his body all day had yet to expel itself. And the guilt that prodded the back of his mind was no help.

Lance knew why he was out here tonight. His whole day had been ruined by the surprise appearance of an evil ex. It was getting too Scott Pilgrim-y in his life and honestly, he just wanted to forget about the whole ordeal. And he was kind of using Nyma to do it.

Now, granted, she had no idea, and Lance doubted she would care either way. He knew for a fact that she was dating someone anyway. She wouldn’t be here if she really cared about whatever was between Lance and her. Not that there  _ was _ anything. They were both here to have a good time,that was it, and both of them knew it.

In one graceful motion, Nyma snuffed out her cigarette and pushed off the wall. She raised a blonde eyebrow in Lance’s direction.

“You’re usually a lot more talkative than this,” she observed, eyebrows pulled together. “What’s with you?”

“Just wanna get inside,” he fibbed, throwing a smile her way. She took it with a shrug and opened the door they’d been standing by.

“Ladies first,” she drawled, gesturing for him to go in, grinning at the rolling of his eyes.

The change from outside to the interior of the bar was almost jarring. It was loud, crowded, and a little too warm. Lance guessed it was because of all the bodies currently occupying the space.

“I wanna see tonight’s specials,” Nyma said into his ear, tugging him towards the bar. He had to remind himself that yes, Nyma could drink. It was easy to forget that she was three years older than him. She’d just been held back two years. The closer they both got, the more stares Nyma attracted. Which was to be expected. Nyma was by all accounts a complete knockout. Even he could be jealous of that figure, that ombre hair, and that  _ contour, goddamn. _

Plus she was like six foot. It was kind of hard not to see her.

There was no room at the bar, until Nyma arrived and no less than three guys and at least one woman offered her their stool. Nyma caught one in the far right and efficiently procured the place next to her with a flirtatious smile and a wandering hand.

“Thanks,” Lance said hesitantly as he slid into his new seat.

“No problem,” she answered back as she read the night’s specials on the wall. “Black Hole,” she muttered. “That looks good. Whadaya think, Lance?”

Lance perused the options. Black Hole, Blackberry Margarita, whatever Alien Goo was, and...something indiscernible.

“Can you read the last one?” he asked his partner, squinting at the words.

  
“Er, not really,” she admitted, lifting her violet-tinted glasses to better read the choices. “That cursive is...really bad.”

A voice sputtered from their left.

“Excuse me! That is perfectly legible. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Lance and Nyma’s heads turned in tandem to appraise the interrupter of their conversation. It appeared to be one of the bartenders here, judging by the black clothes and the fact they were in the process of handing someone a drink from behind the counter. As soon as the person was served, he turned toward them. The man was older, maybe in his fifties. His hair was gelled back from his face, but what really captured Lance’s attention was the--

“Nice mustache,” snorted Nyma.

The bartender lifted a hand to stroke it. “Why thank you,” he said quite seriously. “I did put a lot of work into it.”

“It’s very impressive,” Lance assured him, smiling. He liked whoever this guy was already. “Can you tell us what that last special is, by the way?”

The man straightened the collar of his shirt. He hadn’t noticed before (the mustache was a good distraction) but the bartender also donned a wildly patterned bowtie. 

“It’s an original concoction,” the mustached man bragged. “It was originally brewed by my grandfather, completely by accident. You see, he was experimenting with  _ hair tonic--” _

“Are you sure that’s safe to drink?” Lance interrupted, glancing at Nyma.

“My boy,” the bartender replied quite smugly. “It’s been a recurring special for going on a decade. In fact,” he leaned in, lowering his voice. “We’re considering making it a regular menu item.”

Nyma clicked her tongue impatiently. “What’s it  _ called, _ though?”

“Nunvil,” he answered. The look on his face was as if he’d told them some ancient secret. It took him a moment to realize the name meant nothing to either of them and would warrant no reaction. “Well,” he clapped his hands together. “I’ll whip you two up some Nunvil real quick. My name’s Coran, by the by. If I can just see some I.Ds…?” 

Nyma showed hers to Coran.

“I’m 19,” Lance said with a shrug when Coran looked to him. “I’ll stick to being sober.”

“Good man,” Coran answered with a wink. “After all, someone’s got to be the designated driver. I’ll get that drink for you then, miss.”

He turned his back to them, fixing Nyma’s drink. There was a beat of silence before Lance and Nyma simultaneously turned toward each other.

“So about tonight--”

“Look, Nyma--”

They both stopped. “You first,” Nyma insisted.

Lance exhaled through his nose. “I know you and Rolo are kind of a thing,” he began. At Nyma’s immediate protests, he raised a silencing hand. “And,” he emphasized, “I know it’s casual or whatever between you two. But I just--that’s not really me. I know we’ve done some stuff in the past but right now I wouldn’t be comfortable doing that when you’re with someone else, casual as it may be. Okay?”

Nyma opened her mouth for a second, but after a second of consideration, closed it again. Wordlessly, she frowned and nodded. 

“We’re not  _ together  _ together,” she muttered, as if it mattered to Lance, which she had to know it didn’t. “There’s no commitment.”

“What were you going to say?” Lance ignored her protests, wanting to change the subject.

“Nevermind,” she grumbled. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to suggest. Lance was glad she’d let him speak first. There were a few more seconds of silence, where they both stared at whatever was playing on the TV propped in the upper corner of the room. Since they had been there, the bar had gotten steadily busier, and Lance found people all around him. Some were so close he could smell the beer in their breath.

Their saving grace came in the form of a ginger man holding an alcoholic beverage. “One Nunvil,” he announced proudly, setting the drink down in front of Nyma.

“Thanks,” she replied dryly. Her lips quirked. “A swirly straw?” She pushed it around the glass with a nail. Coran grinned.

“Yes, well. I see no reason not to have one.”

“You. I like the way you think,” Lance announced, which earned a hearty laugh from underneath that bushy mustache.

“I like you too,” he replied fondly. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  
“Lance.”

Coran reached over the bar to shake hands. His hand was cool to the touch. “Nice to meet you, Lance!”  Their smiles mirrored each other.

“Coran,” a deep voice called from the far left. “Can you settle this man’s tab for me real quick?”

Lance peered with his new favorite bartender in the direction of the voice. The owner seemed to be another bartender, but what blew Lance away was the guy’s body.

  
“Whoa,” he breathed, nudging Nyma. “Hottie alert. Look at that chest.”

Nyma’s swirly straw dropped out of her mouth. “Fuck,” she whispered back. “You think I can get his number?”

“You have a boyfriend.”   
  


“We’re not together!”

Lance rolled his eyes. Whatever. “You wanna bet he’s gay?” he asked, glancing at Nyma who was busy putting her straw back in her glass.

“Oh, he’s totally straight,” she challenged.

“Really? That V-Neck says different.”

Nyma sniffed, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. “I dunno, he’s been talking to that cute girl an awful long time.”

“Only because she’s had like, twenty fuckin’ margaritas. How long is her tab? Damn.” 

“Hm.”

They both stared at Shiro for at least a minute more before any of them said anything.

“Screw it,” Nyma finally broke the silence. “I’m gonna get him to come over here and I’m gonna flirt my ass off. Then we’ll see.”

“He’s gay,” Lance warned.

  
“We’ll see about that,” she huffed. “How do I look?”

Lance moved his eyes up and down her figure. “You look fine,” he observed. “But I dunno if he’ll be comfortable with a stranger flirting with him. He might think you’re weird.”

  
“I hate guys with standards,” Nyma mumbled as she attempted to pull up the neckline of her outfit. “That’s why I hang out with you.”

“Har har.”

“Shhshh he’s coming over.”

Nyma put on a charming smile and blinked at the upcoming bartender. He was even more handsome up close. This guy has one of those jaws--cutting and very supermodel-like. His hair was interesting too, Lance wondered if the white part of it was dyed or not. The scar was cool. For some reason, this guy gave off familiar vibes. But Lance couldn’t think of anywhere he could’ve seen this man before.

“Can I help you?” the bartender asked.

“Yes, you can,” Nyma answered automatically. “Could you do me a favor and tell me and my friend here your sexuality? We have a bet going.” 

Lance choked on his own spit and whipped to face Nyma. “You can’t just ask that! It’s--That’s--Insensitive!” he squawked.

Nyma just shrugged, flipping hair over a tan shoulder.

“Er..I’m bisexual?” the guy answered awkwardly, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” Nyma practically sang, looking like a cat that had just done something highly questionable.

Lance glared at her smug smile. “I dunno what you’re grinning about,” he protested. “None of us were right.”

“That’s true,” Nyma allowed. “But I just wanted to see you be wrong.” Lance flipped her off as she laughed. He watched her dejectedly as she brought her straw to her mouth to take a sip of whatever she’d gotten--Nunvil, it’d been called. Now that he thought about it, they had never been told what was in the concoction, and he was pretty sure Coran had just assumed they wanted to order it. Hadn’t there been some mention of hair tonic? Lance watched as the drink crawled up the straw toward Nyma’s lips.

“How is that?” he inquired curiously, but he got his answer the second her eyes bulged and she gagged.

“Strong,” she rasped putting a hand on her chest. “The fuck is in this? Bleach?”

“No, actually!” piped up Coran in that weirdly cheerful way of his. He had replied from all the way on the other side of the bar. “There’s an assortment of things, but bleach is not an ingredient!” That got a few people looking to them in bewilderment.

“How’d he hear us?!” Lance wondered aloud, lowkey kind of incredulous that an old man like that could hear them in a loud and crowded bar.

Nyma didn’t reply, she was too busy taking another tentative sip of Nunvil.

“Nyma. What are you doing.”

“I’m getting hammered, Lance.”

“I thought it tasted horrible?”

“Like bleach and gasoline.”

He blinked. “Then why are you still--Nyma!” He had to keep her from swaying off of her stool.

“Whoa. Head rush,” she declared, grabbing the bar for support. “Wow. Alcohol.”

“Nyma you’ve had like three sips.” Lance deadpanned, raising an unbelieving eyebrow.

She looked at him, offended. ‘If I was acting I’d be able to come up with better lines than wow, alcohol. I am,” she hiccuped, “I am very insulted. And trashed.”

Jesus, what was in that thing? Lance eyed it suspiciously. Nyma pushed it toward him.

  
“You should try it,” she suggested. 

“That’s a really stupid idea.”

“One sip won’t hurt you,” she protested. “Besides, they won’t see it. Just one lil’ sip.”

It was moments like these that Lance remembered why none of his other friends liked Nyma. It was a flaw of hers, he had to admit. She was a little too bendy with the rules, and that was sometimes okay, but in this situation? No. Lance wasn’t stupid enough to break the law right in front of someone who knew he was underage. Coran could get him in trouble. Plus...he’d said he’d stay sober. It felt wrong not honoring his word. Especially when the guy had been so nice. Weird, but nice.

“Nyma, I can’t.” he asserted. “It’s not the time.” She pouted at him before sucking more Nunvil up through her straw.

“More for meeee,” she replied.

“I think that’s probably all you should have tonight.”

“Boooo,” she exclaimed. “You’re not fun. Get out.”

He sputtered, throwing his hands up to gesture at her. “I’m more fun than  _ you.” _

Nyma wrinkled her nose at him. “Says Mr. Sobriety.”

“I’m drunk on life, thank you.”

He crossed his arms and looked up as someone approached them. It was the really hot bisexual bartender from earlier.

“How you guys doing?” he asked affably. “We thinking about any more drinks? If you want, we have a small selection of appetizers available.”

“I’m about as fine as your pectorals,” Nyma drawled. The man looked to her, quietly amused.

“Nunvil?” He questioned, eyes moving to direct his gaze toward Lance. 

“Yup,” he confirmed. The man chuckled, propping his hands on his hips. 

“That’s not the worst I’ve heard from people,” he said with a smile. Lance couldn’t help but smile too. Ugh, it was bothering him so much. There was something about the guy that was _ familiar _ \--maybe they shopped at the same grocery store? This feeling was like an itch Lance couldn’t quite scratch.

“Sorry if this random,” he blurted out, before the bartender could move away. “But I feel like I know you.”

The man raised one dark eyebrow. God, he was handsome. Lance felt like he’d remember a face that good-looking. And he  _ did,  _ he could feel the memory tugging at the edges of his mind.

He introduced himself when the bartender said nothing. “My name’s Lance. Ring any bells?”

“Shiro.”

His tone was grim, and there was no easy smile to grace his face now. The implication of the name hit Lance like a punch in the gut. The hair was new. The scar was new. The voice was deeper. He was three years older but that was definitely--

“No way!” he exclaimed. “Takashi Shirogane?!”

The bartender nodded.

Lance glanced over to Nyma. It seemed she was passed out on the bar, but who knew? She could very well just be taking a break. Only a third of the Nunvil was gone. 

Something on the TV occurred that had the audience around them suddenly alive with noise. Shiro cringed in surprise, lifting a hesitant hand to his ear. Lance was wasn’t expecting the rush of  people weaving in between stools to get a closer look at the screen. It appeared that only he, Nyma, and one other person Lance couldn’t quite make out were even still seated. Everyone else had been riled up by whatever was happening.

“You’re Keith’s brother,” Lance acknowledged above the noise, because it was the only thing he could think to say.

“I also need to do my job,” Shiro said, nodding to someone who had just beckoned to him. He paused for a moment, lips pursed and eyes on someone Lance couldn’t see. All these people around him were both inconvenient for his sight and not very pleasant-smelling. Shiro turned his head in Lance’s direction decidedly. His mouth was set and his eyes were steady. “But,” he jerked his head to the left. “Keith’s over there if you guys need to talk.”

Lance considered asking Shiro to repeat himself. It was almost deafening, there was no way he’d heard him right. Because it sounded like Shiro had just told him to go talk to the person he’d been trying to forget about all evening. That the person he’d been trying to forget about was, and had been, in the same room as him for the past hour. He felt trapped.

“I’ll consider it,” he told the bartender sourly, waiting for him to go help some other customer. Lance’s eyes found Coran too, and when neither of them were looking, he pulled the swirly straw of Nyma’s drink into his mouth.

There was no way he was going into this sober.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	5. Two Beginnings; One Rockier Than The Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's not exactly what you're expecting

**PRESENT DAY**

 

Shiro approached him at the bar with another root beer in hand. “Here,” he said, sliding it towards him.

 

“I didn’t ask for another,” Keith commented back, taking it regardless. There wasn’t much else he could do. 

 

His sibling shrugged. “It’s more of a bribery drink,” he admitted. Keith immediately grew suspicious. He twisted the cap off and took a contemplative swig.

 

“What did you do?” he asked after swallowing, half-dreading what his brother would say.

 

“I might have told the one person you don’t want to talk to...to come over here and talk to you.”

 

Keith set down his drink suddenly, eyes wide. Who could he--no. No, there was no way Shiro was referring to who he thought he was. He was jumping to conclusions. Overreacting.

 

“What are you talking about?” It came out sounding angry. He wasn’t angry, exactly. More like he was tired, and out of patience.

 

Shiro looked at him, before his level-headed gaze shifted to look behind him.

 

Keith saw a shadow come over him from behind. He didn’t turn around. He knew who it was. But he didn’t turn around. He could practically feel a hand reaching for his shoulder. If he didn’t turn around there was still a chance it wasn’t...it didn’t have to be…

 

“Lance!”

 

The voice was one unexpected. Feminine. Drunk. Keith’s eyes caught movement to his left. A giant of a woman clumsily reaching over to whoever it was behind him.  _ It didn’t have to be Lance. _ He watched her flimsily grip whoever she was referring to (it didn’t have to be Lance) out of the corner of his eye, before mumbling something quiet and drunken. There was an indignant reply from the stranger, some kind of half-snort, half-groan. Keith kept himself stooped over the bar, silently sending thanks to whatever force ruled the universe for his luck, and trying not to think,  _ if Lance was three years older, would he sound like that? _

 

Shiro raised a single hand in goodbye to the leaving guests. His eye caught Keith’s, and he opened his mouth to say something--no doubt some kind of wise, mentorly advice about not running from your problems. But whatever he saw in Keith’s face then, however he interpreted the rawness he saw in his younger brother’s expression--it made him shut his mouth with an audible click. Keith checked the clock on his phone, and tried to undo the labyrinth of knots in his stomach. Fifteen more minutes of Shiro’s shift. And then he was home free, and he could sleep.

 

Or try to.

 

Maybe screaming into his pillow all night was a compromise.

 

________________

 

**THREE YEARS AGO**

 

Keith hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t text much. The only person on his phone even worth texting was his brother, who was too busy most of the time anyway with school. His only contacts were his parents, Shiro, his school, and the old lady he cat-sitted for on occasion. So Keith had grown accustomed to not using his phone unless he needed to. He had not been prepared for Lance McClain, boy of sixteen, hyper-texting machine.

 

The day he got Keith’s number, he received three texts.

 

**Lance:**

this is lance

 

**Lance:**

your racing nemesis from summer school

 

**Lance:**

you may address me as your majesty

 

Keith had read it under his desk in his other summer school class (algebra), grinned a small bit, and resolved to reply after class.

 

He forgot to reply after class.

 

And it only made the texts  _ worse _ . He would’ve preferred to see Lance in person, but Lance had a two summer jobs and Keith still had school for another week. On the third day that Lance had Keith’s number, and after an onslaught of texts recapping Lance’s adventures cooking with his eyes closed, he asked Keith if he had received his school schedule in the mail yet. He sent Lance a horrible-quality picture obligingly.

 

**Lance:**

k sooo we both have pd 3 n pd 4 in the same areas roughly?? ngl I have ppl i walk w/ already but im sure u can walk w/ me too nbd 

 

Keith had replied with a neutral, ‘okay’, and resolved never to tell Lance that he’d had to look up what half the words in that text had even meant, or ask how Lance already had arranged for walking buddies in the hallways between class.

 

The last days of summer vacation flew by in the same way. He and Lance texted more, mostly just getting to know each other a little bit better. Keith discovered Lance had twenty-seven social media accounts. Keith also found out that they both shared an adoration for Star Wars, which he was absolutely going to take advantage of later on. Lance found out Keith hadn’t had a haircut in two years and decided to complain about it for what  _ felt  _ like two years. The first day of school came much too quickly and not quick enough. Keith had never liked school but at least now he had more motivation to go. He didn’t want to be stuck texting Lance forever.

 

On the first day after third period, Keith met Lance by the staircase, where he also met Lance’s walk-mate.

 

“This is Hunk,” Lance gestured to his friend amiably. “He’s only been my best friend since I was out of the womb. No pressure or anything.” This last part he said to Keith with a teasing shine in his eye.

 

“No pressure,” Keith echoed wryly, checking Hunk out as nonchalantly as possible. The guy was a bit intimidating at first glance, but...Keith squinted. Yup. The sweater Hunk was wearing over his collared shirt did indeed say,  _ Nice Is The New Cool.  _ And the socks you could see peeking out from under the trim of his jeans did indeed have kittens on them.

 

_ You. _ Keith thought.  _ I like you.  _ Hunk smiled warmly at Keith, squeezing the strap of his backpack.   
  


“We should get going,” Hunk suggested, looking at the watch on his wrist. “I have IBCAP in four minutes.”

 

“IBCAP?” Keith questioned, taking the spot in between Lance and Hunk as they started to walk.

 

“International Baccalaureate Chemistry and Physics,” Hunk explained while making a face. “Really terrible.”

 

Lance snorted from Keith’s right. “You’re talking like you’ve already taken the class,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. “Meanwhile I’m in  _ regular  _ chemistry and I already have homework. A crime, really. Who assigns homework the first day?” He looked across at Hunk, which required him to also look at Keith. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about mole conversions,” he asked slyly, raising an eyebrow. “Would you?”

  
Hunk chuckled and shook his head, muttering something about two years ago. Lance’s eyes slid over to Keith, the same question being asked, but this time silently.

 

He shrugged. “I have chem first hour. I plan on sleeping through most of it.”

 

A grin erupted onto Lance’s face. “Dude,” he said affectionately. “I agree with that sentiment one hundred percent.”

 

They walked together from third to fourth hour every day after that. Sometimes they had boisterous conversation, sometimes they were too tired to do anything besides acknowledge each other. Keith liked Hunk. Keith liked Lance. They liked him. It was good.

 

Then one day, Lance was sick.

 

“Home with the flu,” Hunk announced as Keith approached their regular meeting place, answering a question that had not yet left Keith’s lips. 

 

“Ah,” he said instead.

 

They started walking. Without Lance on his right, their balance was off.

 

“Have you and Lance hung out outside of school yet?” Hunk suddenly questioned, after a few moments of silent commute through the halls. The hallways, though crowded, were wide and big enough for them to maintain a quick pace. They had no time to amble when they only had five minutes to get to the other side of the school. 

 

“No,” Keith answered. “Why?” Hunk glanced over at him curiously.

 

“Lance likes to rush things sometimes,” he commented with a shrug. “But with the important stuff, he takes his time. He tests the waters. Y’know?”

 

It was too deep for Keith to think about at nine in the morning. “Sure,” he replied, suppressing a yawn.

 

It hit him in sixth hour that Hunk had been telling him Lance thought he was important.

 

He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. 

 

___________________

 

One day Lance asked Keith if he wanted to hang out.

 

He’d caught Keith before school, panting from his frantic jog down the hall to catch up.

 

“You could’ve just called my name out,” Keith reasoned, smiling at Lance despite how dumb his friend was (or maybe it was because of how dumb his friend was). 

 

“That would’ve gotten unwanted attention,” Lance defended in between gulps of air.

 

“Like your track team sprint down the hallway didn’t?’

 

Lance scowled and pushed Keith’s shoulder playfully in way of acknowledging he had a valid point. 

 

“What do you want?” Keith directed Lance back to the present subject at hand.

 

“What do I--oh! I ran over here to ask if--hold on--” Lance set about pulling off his backpack and rummaging through the various pockets (which were all full, Keith noted. Did this boy know how to use a locker?) It took his friend a few moments to find whatever he was looking for. He produced two stubby pieces of paper from a hidden pocket of his bag. “Ta-da!” he exclaimed with a smile, handing one to Keith. He examined it.

 

In generic blue print, Keith could just make out the words  _ City Aquarium: Adult Ticket _ on the front. 

 

“Do you wanna come with me?” inquired Lance, his voice filled to the brim with eagerness. Keith looked up from his ticket, and became very aware that this was the first time he would see his friend outside of the school.

 

Mutely, Keith nodded in agreement.

 

“Really?” Lance leaned forward excitedly, fast enough where Keith was forced to take a step back. “How does this Friday sound to you?” he asked. “It’s usually not busy after three. Four o’clock?”   
  


“Yeah,” Keith agreed, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

 

“Awesome! I’m so excited!”

 

The warning bell sounded.

 

Lance frowned at the speakers embedded in the wall like it was somehow its fault that time existed and he had places to be. He grabbed one last look at Keith.

 

“Have fun sleeping in chem,” he joked, before saluting his friend with two fingers and jogging off into the other direction. 

 

The ticket was small in his fist, and Keith had to resist the urge not to squeeze it with all the strength he could muster. He had no idea what had just happened. But the jump in his pulse, the way the air seemed crisper as he took a deep breath...It had to mean something significant. For a moment, he stood frozen in place, watching Lance’s retreating back and trying to analyze exactly what was going on in his head.

 

Someone bumped into him, mumbled an apology. The shock brought him out of his stupor. Keith forced himself to move to his first class of the day.

  
_ I’ll figure it out later, _ he thought.  _ Later. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> season 5 amirite
> 
> we'll get 'em next time, boys. just you wait. i can feel s6 klance in my soul
> 
> thanks for reading ^^ please leave a comment if you're enjoying the story so far!


	6. Tightropes and Tigerfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AQUARIUM DATE AQUARIUM DATE AQUARIUM DATE

**THREE YEARS AGO**

 

Keith was dropped off at the aquarium by his brother. “Have fun,” Shiro said, unsmiling, as Keith started to step out. Something in his tone made Keith pause.

 

Slowly, he looked back to Shiro. “...Will you be okay?” He asked slowly, unsurely. He and Shiro may be the closest brothers in the city, but it didn’t defeat the fact that Keith had trouble telling if Shiro was doing okay. Asking about it, more specifically. He knew his brother was the type to shoulder other people’s burdens, and he didn’t like to talk about stuff that bothered him. And Keith didn’t want to pressure him. But...

 

Shiro drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. His eyes were tired. Keith knew he hadn't slept.

 

“Yeah, sorry.” his brother decided after a moment. His eyes couldn’t stay in one place for more one or two seconds. “Just on edge.” 

 

“...Mom and Dad?” Keith hesitantly guessed with an unsurprised sigh. However, just because he wasn't surprised didn't mean the alarm tingling in his nerves was any less active.

 

Shiro nodded. Keith didn’t ask him to go into specifics, he could imagine the chaos transpiring inside of the bear trap he called a home right now. No doubt Shiro had another bad headache, too.  Keith was glad he’d not gone home, and instead asked his brother to give him a ride straight to the City Aquarium after school. He was grateful that Lance had invited him.

 

“I’ll be around,” Shiro said. “Just text when you need a ride. I’ll get here as soon as I can.”

 

“Thanks,” Keith replied, lingering at the open passenger door. He felt compelled to say something, but there were no words that came to his mind. So he just muttered a, “Stay safe,” and stalked off to wait at the Aquarium’s entrance. His foot tapped impatiently and he tried to force Shiro out of his mind. He would deal with it later, he would deal with all of what came with Shiro later. Today, at the aquarium, was about Lance.

 

He was technically twenty minutes early. He’d never been to the Aquarium before, but the entrance didn’t look too different from what he had imagined. A pair of automatic doors with a cheerful wave pattern on them beckoned him inside, and Keith had to remind himself to stay outside and wait. He didn’t exactly  _ want _ to sit outside for twenty minutes, but it was the courteous thing to do. He didn’t want it to seem like he’d decided to go inside without his friend.

 

So, when Lance appeared five minutes later climbing out of a minivan, he felt relief. But also confusion.

 

“What’re you doing here so early?” Keith asked as Lance came up to him.

 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same thing?” Lance asked back. “I wanted to be early.”

 

“Well, you failed,” Keith answered teasingly. “I still beat you.” 

 

Lance just shrugged good-naturedly.

 

“Whatever,” he decided, rolling a shoulder as he shot Keith a smile. “Just gives us more time to hang out with the fish!” He spread his arms wide as if an extra fifteen minutes was enough time to make a world of difference. 

 

Keith returned the smile, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. He had to admit, he had dressed a bit nicer for this. He’d never been to an aquarium before, and for some reason the idea that you had to dress nice to go to aquariums had weaseled its way into his mind. Keith was wearing the only dress shirt that still fit him and dark jeans that his brother teased were too tight. Lance was wearing a hoodie and joggers. He looked like he’d just come from the gym. Keith had to admit to himself that he felt grossly overdressed, although it seemed that Lance had yet to notice or care. 

 

He looked down to Lance’s hand, which was suddenly pulling on his wrist. “Keith, Keith, Keith,” he was chanting. “We gotta do the Touch Tank. Do you wanna do the Touch Tank? You wanna do the Touch Tank.”

 

Despite what Lance had earlier claimed, the aquarium still seemed quite full of people. There was a slight line of people queued up for the Touch Tank. Keith let Lance fidget excitedly as he looked around the giant entrance of the aquarium. Right when you walked in, there was a giant room, where a shark skeleton (most likely fake) hung from the ceiling. Blue light blanketed the walls, being reflected off the Touch Tank that was set up against one wall, and being bounced around by the glass cases full of shells and fossils that took up the other three. From some unseen speakers, beachy ocean noises were mingling with the mumblings of miscellaneous conversation. People from all different walks of life funneled toward the one way entrance to the next room. Keith could only guess what was in there. 

 

Lance tapped Keith’s shoulder to draw attention to the fact that they were now the first in line. Keith examined the tank with mild interest, only half-listening to the facts that the caretaker was spewing out about the small stingray in the corner, and the various sea urchins, and the corals all contained in the display. Lance eagerly put his hands on everything. Keith stroked a sea urchin. 

 

“Wasn’t that cool?” Lance asked as they made room for the next group of people. Keith nodded, following the flow of visitors into the next enclosure. It dropped a few degrees immediately, and Lance pointed at the exhibit now being highlighted--emperor penguins. One of the walls was a giant window, allowing a look into the penguins’ lives. They watched avidly for a few minutes, Lance laughed whenever a penguin did something remotely entertaining. “You ever see the movie  _ Happy Feet? _ ” Lance said, leaning toward Keith so he could hear him over the collective noises of people and penguins.

 

“Uh…” The title rang a faint bell, but there was no other connection in his brain. “Don’t think so.”

 

Lance clicked his tongue, leaning away again. “Not surprising,” he drawled. “I’m disappointed, though. It’s about a penguin who dances. Good movie.” Keith snorted at Lance’s serious tone.

  
“Sounds like it,” he replied sarcastically.

 

All he got in return was a cheesy grin and a pull on his sleeve as they moved on to the next exhibit. There was an assortment of different underwater ecosystems on display. Keith was honestly more impressed with every exhibit they saw. He wished he had the same energy as Lance, and could express it just as jovially. There was a coral reef room, another room with a large cylinder of moon jellyfish in the center, accented by various other species of jellyfish swimming in the walls. He was enjoying himself, but it was hard to show it with the looming anxiety hovering above him. With every new thing, Lance’s smile grew larger and larger. But Keith slowly grew quieter and quieter. In the small spaces between seeing a new exhibit and Lance’s pleasant chatter, he couldn’t help but think back to the conversation at the car. Was Shiro okay? Was something happening at home, maybe? He would think about it for a sullen two seconds before there was something to distract him from the ever-present dread in his chest at the prospect of returning home.

 

After staring at an octopus for ten minutes and debating on whether or not it was intelligent enough to escape its facility, Lance suggested that they should move on. 

 

“But before we do,” he said, putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith glanced at it, before following the path of his arm all the way up to his face. Lance was smiling like he was hiding some kind of big secret. His eyes reflected his enthusiasm with vigor. “I want you to know that we’re about to enter the  _ coolest _ part in the entire aquarium. Deadass.”

 

Keith took the statement with a grain of salt, seeing as Lance had uttered something akin to it at almost every exhibit before then. But when they walked around the corner, and Keith saw…

 

He was utterly convinced Lance was correct.

 

The next room wasn’t a room. It was a large, winding tunnel. But there were no walls, no ceiling. Just  _ water. _ Surrounding them were fish of all sizes, flowing and twisting above and around them in the walls that looked nonexistent. It was like they themselves were underwater.

 

“Whoa,” he breathed. He looked at Lance, eyes wide. “You weren’t kidding.” Lance was positively alive.

 

“I know,” he sighed, a happiness in his tone that Keith had never heard before. “I come here all the time, just for this. One time I spent three hours in here.” He ushered Keith to a bench that was placed against the tunnel wall, and sat down. A sea turtle drifted lazily behind them. Keith followed it with his gaze, feeling oddly calm. This entire room felt otherworldly, like everything wrong in Keith’s life was inconsequential, and everything that mattered was here in this room. Keith looked at Lance.

 

They were very alone in this underwater tunnel.

 

“Where’d everyone go?” Keith asked quietly, suddenly wary of raising his voice. It felt wrong to disturb anything here--this was Lance’s space.

 

“Musta cleared out,” Lance replied absently, scratching at his nose. “Told you it stops getting busy around four or so. Most people don’t linger in here anyway. They just walk through...” He trailed off, silent as a stingray moved over them. They both looked up to watch it swim over to the other end of the tunnel. 

 

That moment was the quietest it had been in a while, and for the first time that day, Keith felt a little at peace. He didn’t have to deal with school, or with his family, and he wasn’t constantly being pulled into room after room of people. A long sigh escaped his lips as he leaned forward,  resting his elbows on his knees. Lance spread his long legs out in front of him, taking the space to his advantage. They sat there together, watching the underwater scene around them. Keith had nothing to say, but after a few long moments of silence, he could sense that Lance was itching to speak up. With a curious eye, he turned to his friend, nonverbally giving him the go ahead.

 

“Are you having a good time?” Lance asked gently, mouth skewed into an anxious frown. He leaned forward to match Keith’s position. “Sorry, I know it’s a weird thing to ask, but...you’ve been being really stoic. Not as much sarcasm, no teasing…” He let out a nervous chuckle. “To be honest, I got worried after you didn’t compare me to that pregnant sea horse. Am I being too pushy? Am I making you nervous? Please don’t be nervous. I’m nervous. I’m also ranting. If you could shut me up that’d be great--”

 

“Lance.” Keith cut him off. “This is me shutting you up.”

 

Slowly, Lance took a deep breath in through his nose. “Thank you,” he mumbled, before exhaling. “I’m sorry.” Keith shrugged.

 

“I don’t care,” he grunted in response. “And to answer your question, yes. I’m having a good time.” Lance’s expression was skeptical, like he didn’t really believe him.

 

“Are you sure?” he asked gently. “You seem...I don’t know. Off.”

 

His mind flashed back to his discussion with Shiro, how tired his brother had looked. The looming inevitability of him returning to his house this evening, the pit in his stomach when he thought about what was waiting for him there.

 

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just tired.”

 

“Okay…” Lance replied, frowning. Keith had never been good at hiding things. Mostly he just relied on his icy tone being enough to tell people to drop it. But Lance was horrible at taking hints, so he wasn’t remotely surprised when his companion opened his mouth again and said, “I understand if you don’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering you. It’s your business. I just...I mean, talking about it with someone could help.”

 

Keith moved his head an inch to peer at Lance. The boy was already looking at him, eyebrows pinched together in worry. The light reflecting off of the water danced across his face, making him look mystical, and his eyes more deep, less like eyes and more like portals to somewhere else, just like the room itself. Keith realized, not for the first time, how completely odd it was that someone like Lance was trying to be friends with someone like himself.

 

How long had he and Lance been friends now? A month or two? Lance had started racing in him gym class half-way through the summer...they’d exchanged numbers about a month ago. Keith didn’t have a lot of references for comparison, but he guessed that they should probably be at the point in the friendship where secrets weren’t a big deal. Except the last thing Keith wanted to do was tell Lance anything. He was a nice guy, but he was too talkative for Keith to feel secure with giving away his deepest fears. Did that make him a bad person? He was just trying to be smart.

 

“I just…” Keith’s voice was scratchy. He paused to clear his throat, moving his eyes away from Lance, to literally anything else. “I just need some sleep,” he told Lance. “Don’t worry about me.” That seemed to poke the last hole in Lance’s resolve. His friend retreated, mumbling apologies for overstepping a boundary, or something. Keith leaned back, letting his head hit the cool, thick glass of the aquarium wall with a quiet thud. Lance checked his phone once, twice. Keith ignored his.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Lance piped up again. Their eyes slid over to each other. Keith shrugged indifferently.

 

“Shoot,” he answered, hoping Lance had the sense not to bring up the sore subject he’d just tried to avoid. Lance’s hand tapped on his knee erratically.

 

“Sorry,” he started. “Just--there’s no way to really phrase this right. Do you feel like there’s some kind of disconnect here?” He gestured to the space between them. “I like you a lot Keith. I think we’re buds. But it’s not,” he paused, struggling for words. “It’s not clicking right now. Do you feel that way? Is it just me? Am I doing something wrong? How can I make it better?”

 

Keith’s mouth hardened into a line. He hadn’t felt anything different but...Lance was better at sensing that stuff.  He hadn’t noticed his own behavior had been stoic or unwelcoming. It had to be him who had, according to Lance, been off all day...

His companion was still babbling, back on his rant from before like he had never stopped. Keith bristled. There was something about Lance constantly apologizing for doing nothing that had him swimming in antipathy. He didn’t like how Lance assumed things were his fault, and even though this was the first time he’d seen it, he felt like it was something that happened more than once. It struck him as odd, because around friends Lance was always so quick to put himself on a pedestal. Keith pushed himself up from his position.

 

“ _ Lance,” _ he snapped. The other boy quieted, looking at Keith like he had done something wrong.  _ Stop that. _ He clutched Lance’s shoulders, and looked him in the eye. “You have done nothing wrong,” he stated. “Stop assuming it’s you. It’s not you.”

 

His eyes were twitching every direction, and Keith wondered what could  _ possibly  _ be going through his friend’s head in that moment. Was he too close? Lance had never defined any boundaries before. He didn’t  _ think  _ Lance minded. “Okay,” Lance squeaked.

 

Keith didn’t break contact. “It’s not you,” he repeated. “Okay? It’s all me. Nothing to even do with you.” He needed Lance to know that. Because Lance had tried hard to make this happen. He’d gotten the tickets, he’d stayed relentlessly happy the entire time, and when he couldn’t cheer Keith up, he’d asked him what was wrong and how he could help. Not  _ if  _ he could help. How.

 

Lance couldn’t help. Not really. But it was the thought that counted, because God, when was the last time someone had offered to listen to his problems? He couldn’t just let Lance think he’d ruined everything after all he’d done to make this something they would both remember.

 

“Keith,” Lance mumbled, looking down at his biceps. “You can take your hands off of me now.”    
  


He blinked, sheepishly realizing his grip was still taut around Lance’s arms. Quickly, he retracted them back to his sides.

 

“Whoops,” he muttered.

 

“N-B-D,” Lance answered easily, smoothly leaning back towards his own side of the bench. For someone who had been a nervous wreck only seconds earlier, Lance was the image of suaveness. Keith examined this pointlessly. He already knew about Lance’s capricious nature, why should his sudden transition from awkward to elegant be a surprise? Keith inwardly sighed. At least he had appeared to assuage Lance’s conscious. That was what was important. 

 

A small shark drifted above them, and Lance made a quiet cooing noise.

 

“Sharks are my favorite,” he eagerly told Keith’s questioning gaze. “I know nothing about them but I love them and I would pretty much die for all sharks.”

 

“That’s...intense,” he replied. His friend nodded eagerly before spinning to face Keith in less than a second.

 

“Quick,” he breathed. “Favorite ocean animal, go!”

 

Keith’s brain short-circuited. “Uhhhh….” he stammered.  _ Ocean Animal. Ocean Animal.  _ “Uhhhhhippos.”

 

_ Fuck. _

 

There was a slight pause before Lance burst out laughing, and Keith wondered if it had just been waiting to come out. The wheezing heaves of air were hilarious to watch, and soon there were two people laughing together alone in a fish tunnel.

 

“...Hippos…” Lance wheezed after a solid thirty seconds of frenzied giggling. “That’s not even...hippos aren’t…they aren’t...oh Keith what the fuck. Out of every animal you coulda picked...”

 

“I just said whatever came to my mind first!” Keith protested through chuckles, throwing his hands in the air. “Stop mocking me!”

 

“I’m not, I’m not,” Lance assured with calming hand gestures. “Hippos are a solid choice. Really. Super cute, super deadly. I get it. I just…I said  _ ocean animal _ and that’s not a traditionally an ocean...animal...more like mud-hole animal? Definitely a freshwater animal.”

 

Keith had begun to wipe his nose on his sleeve (it had started to run from all the giggling, gross) when there was a nudge at his side. Lance had quieted again. Keith looked over to find him pointing to the other side of the tunnel, where two sharks circled around each other. 

 

“Are they gonna fight?” he whispered to Lance.

 

“I was thinking they were mates,” Lance suggested unsurely.

 

Keith looked at the sharks. He looked at Lance. He looked at the sharks again.

 

“Could be either,” he amended.

 

Suddenly there was a loud buzz in Lance’s pocket. It echoed through the tunnel, and for a second, they were both still, listening to the sound of the real world interrupting the small safe space they’d created. Then Lance was moving. He dug out his phone and Keith plainly saw on his screen that Mrs. McClain was calling. As soon as Lance’s finger swiped across the screen to answer, there was a commotion of noise from the other end. It surprised Keith, but Lance just casually leaned into the phone and started conversing with someone in spanish. 

 

He had absolutely no idea what was being said until Lance said  _ adios _ and hung up the phone. The boy turned to Keith apologetically, hands playing with each other in his lap.

 

“My mom’s here…” he announced, looking like it was the last thing he wanted to say. With a dismal exhale of air he stood from their bench, lifting his arm above him to stretch. Keith followed slowly.

 

“Thanks,” he let out, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

Lance paused, turning his head toward Keith. “For what?” he asked.

 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Lance could be such an idiot. How about for inviting him here? For sharing a really beautiful place with him? For noticing he wasn’t okay and offering to help? For thinking he was important enough to make sure that the first time they hung out, it was somewhere like this? There were too many to name, so all Keith replied with was, “For being you, dumbass.”

 

Then he was walking briskly out of the tunnel because  _ holy shit _ what was this? A romcom? No. This was not the VHS of  _ Can’t Buy Me Love _ that sat in his room somewhere under his bed. That was such an embarrassing thing to say. More embarrassing than hippos. Way more embarrassing than hippos.

 

He had walked out of the aquarium before Lance caught up with him.

 

“Keeeeith!” he whined from behind. Keith didn’t look behind him. “Keeeeeeith,” teased Lance again, closer.

 

Then there were hands on his shoulders, and endless legs around his waist and a weight on his back and someone was giggling in his ear and “LANCE!” Keith exclaimed. “Get off me!”   
  


“This is me hugging you because you wouldn’t turn around for one,” His rider asserted. “Friends give friends hugs, Keith. It’s a Lance McClain rule.” In tandem with his lecture, Lance squeezed the ever-loving fuck out of Keith with the combined force of his arms and legs. He swore the laughs coming out of Lance’s mouth were positively maniacal. But then a minivan was honking at them and Lance was groaning and climbing off of him and he could breathe again.

 

“I’ll see you later?” Lance questioned while walking to his ride. Keith nodded. Lance smiled and gave him a cheesy salute before climbing inside his mom’s car. Keith saw that there were at least three other kids in there. It explained the racket he had heard on the other side of the earlier McClain phone call. Somehow it made perfect sense to him that his friend had a big family.

 

Speaking of families.

 

Keith dug out his own phone and flipped it open to look for Shiro’s contact. He would just have to deal with whatever was going on at home. It wasn’t like he could run from it. The pit in his stomach was still there, like it always was, but Keith was a tightrope walker above it, with years of practice. He wouldn’t fall. He would have to be pushed hard. And even then, Keith had been told repeatedly that he pushed back even harder.

 

His brother picked up on the first ring. 

 

“Hey,” Keith greeted, “Can you come pick me up?”

 

“Yeah,” Shiro answered, his voice raspy.

 

“Shiro?” Keith hesitated, eyebrows drawing together. “Are you okay? You sound…”

 

“I’ll tell you in the car, Keith,” Shiro answered with finality. There was a small click, and Keith knew his brother had hung up on him. Part of him felt guilty he was not at home right now. It sounded like he had missed most of the major drama. He was glad to have missed it, there was no question about that. But Shiro had had to go through it all alone. Keith had not been there for him like he usually was. Anxiety that had been festering all night was starting to reach the brim, Keith could feel it rising inside of him. 

 

As he sat his butt on the cement sidewalk outside the aquarium to wait, he had to remember to keep his balance and readjust himself over that pit in his stomach. The sudden contrition had sent him a bit too far from his center. It took him a moment to close his eyes and imagine it like Shiro had always told him to.  _ Imagine you’re that tightrope walker, _ Shiro’s voice came from a distant memory in his head. One where his parents’ raised voices still scared him enough to make him cry in front of his brother. Shiro had grabbed him and pulled him onto his bed, and they’d sat together with the door shut as Keith got himself together and Shiro waited patiently.

 

_ “It helps if you imagine all of this stuff as a big pit,”   _ Shiro had suggested calmly.  _ “And you’re a tightrope walker walking above it. Perfectly balanced. Not going to fall in, because you're a pro. And your only goal is to get to the other end of the rope, where there's no more hole. Right? Can you do that for me, Keith? Close your eyes and try. _ ”

 

That night had been the only time he’d ever referenced the tightrope walker that now had a permanent residence in Keith’s memory. But one time was all that had been needed for the image to stick with him, and it was the image he pulled up now eight years later.

 

He had no idea what was waiting for him but...as long as his brother was there, it’d be fine. It was always fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright hoes. this was a fluffy chapter. its my apology to you because the next one might kill you a little bit.
> 
> i cried writing it so be prepared


	7. The Ocean's Frozen Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suffer.

**PRESENT DAY**

 

Lance cracked his eyes open the next day with a splitting headache and a wish for sweet, swift death. Nunvil….had clearly been a mistake.

 

A big, stupid, extremely alcoholic mistake. He knew he’d only had what, four swallows of the stuff? He’d gotten an immediate buzz that was quickly followed by swimmy vision and the idea that maybe approaching Keith Kogane wasn't such a horrible idea.

 

Yeah, he’d been drunk off his ass. How had he even gotten home last night? He didn't remember driving at all. Lance squinted in the darkness of the room. He needed to open the blinds just a little, it was pitch black in here. His hand searched the wall fruitlessly for the blind opener. Where was it? He knew it was there somewhere. But after a few more seconds of feeling the wall he gave up. He would have to resort to his phone for light.

 

He patted himself down, unsurprised to feel the material of his windbreaker and realize his shoes were still on his feet. He doubted he had been in the shape to shower last night. But in this case, it helped him out. He fished for his phone in his numerous pockets, and felt relieved when he felt its shape in one of them. Taking it out, he turned on the flashlight.

 

Wait a second.

 

Lance didn't have a yellow and purple comforter. His blanket was blue. And there was no window on the wall to his right like there should have been. Shifting to spread the flashlight beam around the room his confusion only grew. What the…? Where  _ was _ he?

 

The blanket behind him moved. It shifted and then there was a warm hand on his bicep, and a very familiar voice was mumbling for him to lay down again.

 

It was the last puzzle piece that finally put the full image in his head. He  _ did  _ know where he was. This was Nyma’s room. He recognized it, now that he was slightly less groggy. He and Nyma must’ve hitched a ride together last night, maybe an uber. They’d been dropped off at Nyma’s place. Panic seized him for a moment. They’d been drunk, he didn’t remember what happened, had anything happened? But wait, no, he was dressed. He was fine. He and Nyma hadn’t done anything. 

 

“Lance,” Nyma mumbled again, pulling him down to her level. His face hit the warm pillow and he had to admit it was tempting. He could still fall asleep if he wanted to. She wanted him to. The bed was soft and welcoming and god, he was tired, but he couldn’t do it. She was dating Rolo and Lance had just broken up with someone and if he stayed it was only gonna go one way. So rubbing an eye he whipped the blankets off of himself and stood. There was a whine from Nyma as her body was suddenly exposed to the cold air. She grabbed the blankets and bunched them around her.

 

“I’m leaving, Nyma,” Lance half-whispered, patting her shoulder.

 

“Stay,” she protested sleepily, shifting slightly in the dark.

 

“Can’t,” he told her, smothering a small ember of guilt. “Maybe another time.”

 

“Mm,” she murmured, already succumbing to the clutches of sleep. Satisfied that he had won, Lance blindly navigated his way to her bathroom, where he closed the door and flipped on the light. His hands rested themselves on the cold marble countertop and his eyes examined his reflection in the mirror. He looked like shit. His hair was a bird’s nest of tangles, there was a line of weariness underneath his eyes, his breath reeked. Tiredly, he ran a hand down his face, watching in the mirror how it dragged down his skin. He peered down at Nyma’s straightener, left out on the countertop and still plugged in. She wouldn’t care if he used it, right? Just this once? His hand was halfway to it before he stopped.

 

_ You’re supposed to be leaving, _ he reminded himself.  _ Lance McClain is not the guy who stays the morning after _ . Sure, this wasn't exactly the same, but it was similar enough. So Lance looked at himself in the mirror one last time, ran a hand through his hair, squared his shoulders, and he left. He tiptoed through Nyma’s room, sending his hand out to look for the doorknob in the dark.

 

In the hallway he stooped down to briefly pet Beezer, whose tail thumped when they caught sight of him.

 

“Hey boy,” he greeted quietly, giving him a quick belly rub before moving on.

 

In the space that served as the living room/kitchen/dining room/guest room, Rolo was there, spread across their couch. Lance’s eyes flicked toward the door then back to the man in between him and his goal. They caught sight of each other, and Lance hesitated. Even though logic and Rolo’s carefree smile told him it was fine, his mind still stumbled over guilt.

 

“Hey Lance,” Rolo greeted with an easy wave. “How you doin’? You and Nyma go out last night?” Beezer plodded over to them and Rolo ran an absent hand down the dog’s back, patting him affectionately.

 

“I guess,” Lance agreed carefully. “Just...you know. Doing friend stuff.”

 

“Cool,” Rolo replied. “Hey, you know, we should hang out sometime too. I heard from Nyma you broke up with that girl, Hailey?”

 

“Heather.” Lance corrected. He wanted to exit this conversation. It wasn’t going in a good direction. How could he get out of this?

 

Rolo continued talking, one hand messing with his shaggy hair, the other stroking the dog. “Yeah, yeah. Her. Anyway, you know, I’m totally free to go out, have a good time…” He gained a teasing spark in his eye. “Go out, y’know...just doin’ friend stuff.”

 

No. Nope. Absolutely not. No. 

 

“Ah…” Lance uttered, starting to fidget awkwardly. “Well, um...thanks. I guess. But--” he motioned to the door. “I have places to be. So. Bye.”

 

“Just kidding,” Rolo waved again with a laugh, before lifting Beezer to sit on the couch with him. “You’re so serious, dude.” 

 

Lance’s mouth opened but nothing came out, so he took it upon himself to leave before he embarrassed himself even more. Lance reached for the door handle like his life depended on it and got the hell out of that apartment. The clicking shut of the door behind him felt concrete, and he allowed himself to take a deep breath. 

 

He’d never been as close with Rolo as he’d been with Nyma. The guy was hot, sure, but they didn’t share many common interests like he and Nyma did. As far as Lance knew, she and Rolo were very close, and that was awesome. But he didn’t think he’d ever get that way with him.

 

It’d been three years since Lance had even considered dating a guy. He didn’t think he was about to start now. Especially with Keith back in town. Lance grimaced as he exited the apartment complex. That’s right. Keith had been in the bar last night. There wasn’t much to remember, but what he did recollect was taking a few sips of Nunvil for courage (like a coward) and then bailing the second Nyma gave him an out (like a coward). His eyes fell to the ground. It was wild to him that after all this time, Keith had been there. Less than a foot away, touchable, tangible. How many times had he dreamt of the very same scenario? He couldn’t count them. There were too many. And every time he woke up from one, he felt awful. Like his heart was a cold, hard rock. Sometimes they’d be back at the aquarium and he would lay his head on Keith’s lap and then they’d be on his couch and it’d be like nothing ever happened. Sometimes their last conversation would replay in his head on a loop. Sometimes he dreamt about Keith coming back, and when that happened, one of two things transpired. Keith came back, and Lance either punched him, or he kissed him. He could never decide which was worse.

 

The morning air was chilly, and Lance was grateful for the shield provided by his windbreaker and jeans. He kicked a rock as he strolled down the sidewalk, turning on his phone to look for directions to that bar from last night. He’d had to have left his car there. Now he had to go get it. When the address finally showed up, he was relieved to find it wasn’t that far away. Only about a twenty minute walk down the street. Plenty of time to wake up...and plenty of time alone with his very,  _ very  _ present hangover. 

 

Great.

______________________

 

“Congratulations!” Coran exclaimed, wrapping Keith in a very enthusiastic hug. “I’m so pleased you’ve decided to join us!” From somewhere unknown, he whipped out a kazoo-looking thing and blew into it celebratorily. “Now we don’t have to take as many shifts!” he exclaimed, looking very happy about this fact.

 

Keith readjusted the sleeves of the black button-down he’d borrowed from Shiro. It was a bit too broad in the chest and a touch too long in the sleeves, but tucked in with the sleeves pulled to his elbows, it looked nice. The dress code called for all black apparel, so Keith was stuck borrowing Shiro’s collection of black shirts for now until he could afford to buy his own. It was a better alternative than having his brother buy all his stuff for him, which to nobody’s surprise, Shiro had advocated for.

 

He really had no idea how he had landed this job with his limited experience. Maybe Shiro had more sway in the decision than he had let on, because Keith had serious doubts that his experience in a Japanese 100-yen store was a convincing prerequisite to serving people alcohol. But he was fine with this. He would make the best of it and adapt. Working with his older sibling beat working in a  _ Justice _ any day. He would have to thank his brother in private later.

 

Coran continued to speak. “Usually we have a special treat for new bartenders, but unfortunately you’re under twenty-one so we can’t give you free drinks for a week...I’ll have to think about what your benefit will be. Any ideas, Shiro?” Coran rested his hand beneath his chin and peered over to the other veteran bartender, who had moved to peer through the window blinds at something.

 

“Something out there?” Keith moved to his brother’s right side, reaching to pull down a blind. But before he could, Shiro swatted his fingers. “Hey,” Keith protested mildly, pulling his hand away. “What was that for?”

 

“Nothing,” Shiro fibbed, letting the blind go and stepping back. “Just someone in the parking lot.” 

 

Keith narrowed his eyes. He had known his brother for his entire life and knew his tells like the back of his hand. Shiro saw the look Keith was giving him and grew defensive.

 

“What?” he asked, his expression almost comically suspicious. “I clean those blinds everyday. I just don’t want you touching them.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. An obvious lie. 

 

“Who’s out there, Shiro?” piped up Coran, looking appropriately perplexed. After all, it was hours before they opened. Who would be out there? It was also the first time Keith had heard the older man’s voice approach anything nearing authority. Shiro glanced at Coran and crossed his arms. 

 

“Just a guy I drove home last night,” he answered with a frown.

 

Well, that didn’t seem like an outright lie. But it was obvious even to Coran there was something more behind it. 

 

“Did he hit on you or something?” Keith pressed, leaning against the bar while he maintained his skeptical stare.

 

“Or did he threaten you?” Coran added, the authoritative tone shifting to to be more concerned.

 

“No, he was fine,” Shiro replied with finality. “Just--Keith, don’t--”

 

But Keith was already lifting himself over the bar and going to open the door to get a look at whoever Shiro had ubered last night. There was another protest from his brother but it went unheard. Keith was suspicious, a little curious. Who wouldn't be? There weren't too many things Shiro attempted to hide from his little brother. 

 

He peeked out into the parking lot expecting something noticeable. 

 

But it took him a second to find the person Shiro had been looking at. It was just a pair of long ass legs. For a second, he thought that was all it was, until his mind kicked in and he realized a torso was obviously connected to it. Just obscured underneath a car. It looked pretty suspicious from afar, he had to admit. From what he could surmise, there was a person lying underneath the car, looking or messing with something connected to the vehicle. It looked kind of sketchy. Why was this guy tampering with a car? 

 

Or wait, was he really tampering? Shiro said he'd ubered the guy home...that was probably his  _ own _ car, and he was probably checking to make sure no one  _ else _ had tampered with it. Keith would have done the same thing, now that he thought about it. Leaving a car in a publicly accessible lot overnight was a plausible reason to inspect one’s vehicle. They weren’t exactly located in the best part of town, either.

 

He stood in the doorway, holding the door open awkwardly, half-debating whether to step out and help the guy out or just admire those legs from afar. Because those thighs were  _ nice. _ This guy had to be a runner. No question about it. He was caught by surprise when the mile-long legs moved suddenly, pulling the owner out from underneath the car.

 

Keith’s hand lost grip of the door and it slammed closed behind him.

 

The sound caught the other man by surprise, and just like that Keith found himself making direct eye contact with Lance McClain for the second time that week. The second time in the past three years.

 

_ Lance _ was across the parking lot,  _ Lance _ was lying on his back on filthy cement underneath a car,  _ Lance _ was the owner of those long ass legs he’d just been staring at.

 

Both of them remained still. Keith had no idea what was going on in Lance’s brain. How could he? When he hadn't seen him in so long?  _ God, it'd been so long. _ Lance looked so different already and they were still yards away from each other. What more would Keith notice if he took a step forward? Two steps? Part of him wanted to go back inside and pretend Lance wasn’t there. He was afraid of what Lance would say. He was afraid of seeing the damage he’d left behind, and  _ knowing  _ he’d caused it. It terrified him.

 

But. He squeezed his hands into fists by his waist. The first time they'd met, Lance had started this all. He’d been the one to take the initiative, to stick with him day after day no matter what.

 

It was time Keith finally returned the favor.

 

He ignored the feeling of uncertainty rooted inside of his chest and took a purposeful step forward. And once he took one, the rest were easy. His palms were sweaty and his mind was a mess but he was doing this. If not for what they’d meant to each other before, then for himself  _ now _ . Because he was better than this fear. He was better.

 

There were so many things to say. So many things to apologize for, to ask about, to do. How could he possibly say it all?

 

He stopped two steps shy from where Lance had decided to stand. None of them said anything for an impossibly long moment. Keith let Lance’s eyes skid over him erratically before swallowing and forcing the words to escape his mouth.

 

“Hi Lance,” he croaked. “I’m...back.”

 

For a second Lance showed no reaction and Keith was held in agonizing suspense. He didn't like this syrupy tension surrounding them, it felt like an argument waiting to happen, and he didn’t want to fight. It would only make things worse. He had to be careful about what he said. If he supplied the match, Lance wouldn't hesitate to light it. And then everything would burn.

 

Keith didn't want anything else to burn.

 

Lance’s adam's apple bobbed once, twice, before he had to lean his back against his car for support. His eyes had retreated to somewhere far away.

 

Tentatively, Keith repeated his ex’s name.

 

“You lost the braces,” Lance commented quietly. His voice was deeper. There were a lot of things different about him too, now that Keith was closer. The lack of acne, the less-awkward haircut, he’d grown into himself a bit more. Keith noticed that Lance was definitely more proportional. But his narrow face was still the host of the same eyes, the same hooked nose, the same cutting jawline. It was confusing to think about how Lance had once been so familiar to him, and now the exact same person might as well have been a complete stranger.

 

“Jeez, that’s the first thing you notice?” he answered, slightly embarrassed. Lance didn’t smile, so Keith switched gears again. “You uh, you have a car now?” He looked over to peer at the volvo more intently.

 

“Yeah,” Lance replied back roughly, crossing his arms over his chest. Keith was trying to think of something else to say when Lance’s shoulders visibly tightened. Lance’s eyebrows creased over his narrowed eyes as he appraised Keith skeptically, almost like he didn’t believe that Keith Kogane was standing right in front of him.

 

“Where the fuck have you been,” Lance said.

 

When Keith was quiet for a beat too long, his frown grew in intensity. A sharp breath escaped from his nose.

 

“Where the  _ fuck _ have you been?” He repeated, louder and more frenzied. There was a wobble in his voice. 

 

“Japan,” Keith responded immediately, knowing it wasn’t enough. But what else could he say besides the truth? It wasn’t like he could lie, and even then, what would Lance even want to hear?

 

Lance blinked rapidly, looking up toward the sky. A shaky laugh was let out of his mouth. “Of course you were,” he answered, sounding like he was talking to himself. His voice was thick. “Of course you were literally across the globe. Great.” His hands clenched. When he regained some of his icy composure and he looked down again. His face was carefully blank. The ocean in his eyes was completely frozen over. “How long have you been back?”

 

“Three days,” Keith breathed.

 

Lance hummed unhappily. “And I’ve ran into you for two.”

 

“I guess.” 

 

The Lance that Keith remembered would’ve immediately assumed it was fate. He would’ve gone on about destiny, how this was just like a romcom he’d watched last week. There would’ve been no doubt in his mind that this was no coincidence. The Lance he was in front of now snorted, and muttered: “What a fucking joke.”

 

Lance turned and dug out his keys. Then the car door was open and he was sliding into his seat, and Keith felt something seize in his chest. This could very well be the last time he ever ran into Lance. The last time, ever. This was his second chance, and he shouldn’t--couldn’t-- _ wouldn’t _ let it end here, he had to  _ fix this. _ He grabbed the car door before Lance could slam it shut.

 

“We need to talk,” he told him urgently, holding it open. Why wasn’t Lance getting the message?

 

A hiss of breath blew out of Lance’s mouth. “I don’t want to talk to you,” he replied sternly, pulling on the door. But Keith wouldn’t let it shut. For a second their eyes held each other, each cutting gaze a silent challenge to the other. 

 

Lance glanced down first.

 

“Don’t you want this to be over?” Keith tried again with vigor, as Lance pulled on the door again. “Don’t you think three years is long enough? I’m here now, and I’m ready to talk about it. So let’s talk!”

 

There was a lengthy eye roll from Lance. “I’m so glad that  _ you’re  _ finally ready to talk,” he spat. “I’m so glad that because you’re ready, everything can finally be resolved. Really. I am so happy for you.”

 

“Lance!” Keith protested, almost desperately. “Please, I can’t--” 

 

The words choked him.

 

“Can’t what, Keith?” Lance asked, his mouth shaped like a wolfish snarl.

 

(The most vicious of creatures are those who are wounded.)

 

Keith faltered.

 

This time when Lance pulled on the door, it slammed shut with sudden finality. Keith watched helplessly as Lance pressed on the gas and sped out of the parking lot.

 

He dragged a hand down his face, wondering how the fuck that had gone so wrong.

 

Oh, but who was he kidding? It was Lance. Lance was the most difficult, prideful, stubborn, contentious person he’d ever known. Of course it wouldn’t be easy. Lance was...complicated. Very complicated. He should’ve known better than to just approach him like that with no plan in mind. He never had a plan.

 

Why was it that whenever he tried to fix something it always went wrong? Keith’s eyes squeezed shut. Lance wanted nothing to do with him. If Keith couldn’t find Lance again, and somehow fix all of this...he would lose him for good.

 

And that hurt more than anything Lance had said to him.

 

The simmering frustration and anxiety he’d been trying to hold back for the past few minutes began to boil in his chest. 

 

Fuck it. Nobody was around.

 

Keith tipped his head back and let out a ragged, frustrated scream. It echoed around the parking lot like a lion’s roar before it gradually decreased into a pathetic-sounding groan, leaving his throat feeling raw. He had never despised his sixteen-year-old self more than he did in this moment. Why did he have to make things so hard for himself? It was infuriating.

 

Keith spotted a flicker of movement in the corner of his vision.

 

Two pairs of eyes squinted at him through the bar’s blinds. When Keith squinted back, the eyes widened marginally and the pulled-down blind frantically snapped back into place. He couldn’t help but scowl. First day on the job and his coworkers were already spying on him. One of them his brother and the other a fifty-year-old man. 

 

And it was still better than his job at the 100-yen store.

 

Resigned, Keith crossed the parking lot to give his brother an earful about meddling. The scream had been a good temporary vent. He would have to worry about his personal life...later. Today was his first day as a bartender, and he had a lot to figure out before the evening rush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so i cried a little writing this. feel free to yell at me in the comments bc i probably deserve it :""">
> 
> but srsly thank you for reading!!! i appreciate your continuous support!


	8. please pick up the phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance has some shit to figure out.
> 
> did i really manage to squeeze in a season 1 joke between all the angst? yes. yes i did.

 

**PRESENT DAY**

 

Lance was grateful for the reprieve of his foot on the gas pedal. He felt like if he got out of there quick enough, maybe it would just all go away. He hoped it would. This whole situation was just getting worse and worse and if he had to see that goddamn look of near-desperation on Keith Kogane’s face again, or hear him shout his name one more time--he didn’t know what’d he’d do.

 

His hand reached over to turn up the stereo as he stopped at a traffic light. Why was his life suddenly all about Keith Kogane? Just a week ago he had been Keith-free with a girlfriend and he was satisfied.

 

He had none of those things now, and it was all  _ his _ fault.

 

His thumb tapped on his steering wheel to the synth-y rhythm of the song on the radio.The light turned green and he was driving again. So much had just happened. It just felt good to do a mindless task like this. Especially after how frazzled he felt. Lance hadn’t expected to see Keith at that bar. He hadn’t expected to see anyone. And right now, with his awful hangover pounding in his head, and the sleep still in his eyes, he just wasn’t in a place to handle Keith. Lance wasn’t emotionally ready, period. He wished he’d had more time to think about what he would say, and hadn’t been as close to shitting himself as he’d been.

 

There was no real destination in his mind when he’d taken off from the bar. Which, speaking of, he was going to make it his business to never go there again. Too many exes in one place. Well, maybe one wasn't a big enough number to qualify for that. Maybe just too much Keith. 

 

How that place was even in business when he was pretty sure they served hair product as a special, he had no idea. Lance could still taste the burning liquid in the back of his throat if he tried. It sent chills up his spine and he shuddered.

 

Nunvil. Mistake. Never again. He attributed at least 50% of his sour mood to his bitch of a hangover.

 

Without thinking, he flipped his blinker and turned into a neighborhood. He didn’t look at the sign, he didn’t need to, because by now he knew where his subconscious had guided him. It was like a muscle memory. Two rights, a left, and a wrong turn into a cul de sac later, Lance found himself idling in his car outside what looked like a normal house in the heart of suburbia.

 

Someone had changed the paint, and gotten rid of the lilac bush that had obnoxiously covered all of the living room windows, but the differences hardly mattered. Lance still felt his stomach sink deeper with every second his eyes stayed on that house. 

 

Keith’s old house.

 

His family didn’t live there anymore, they’d moved a few weeks after Keith had disappeared (to Japan. To  _ motherfucking Japan). _ Lance remembered stopping by and seeing the sign staked into the yard, spelling out  _ SOLD _ in red bolded letters. That was, he reflected, probably the moment where Keith being gone really sunk in with him. Before it had seemed like they could still fix things, Keith would reappear at school anytime. But that sold sign had given Keith’s mysterious disappearance the concreteness it had been lacking. 

 

That was the last time Lance had been here, and three years ago he had told himself it would be the last.

 

But here he was.

 

Slowly, his head sunk in between his shoulder blades, and he pushed a frustrated exhale out of his lungs. 

 

He had no idea who lived in there now, but it occurred to him that a stranger lurking outside your house was extremely creepy. He could wallow somewhere else. His head snapped upward and decidedly, he put his car back into drive and forced his gaze to return to the road. Why had he done this? Why had he driven himself here? To just make himself feel worse? Did he just subconsciously hate himself or something?

 

_ Wait,  _ he thought.  _ Subconscious, don’t answer that. _

 

To drown out the rest of his intrusive thoughts, Lance blasted some loud music in his car. Like, the-ground-is-vibrating, the-old-lady-in-the-car-next-to-you-is-glaring kind of loud. He didn’t even know what CD was on, but it didn’t really matter. He didn’t want any ideas of optimism to stick in his mind. No romantic thoughts of hope allowed. He’d let it happen one too many times and it had never turned out well for him. He was always let down.

 

With nothing better to do, Lance idled around town. He went through a drive-through and bought himself a burger and a milkshake, he sang along to his music, he remembered a funny video Pidge had shown him the other day and almost hit another car because he had made himself laugh too hard. Again, he found himself driving with no particular destination. A turn here, a turn there, for a while he’d been sure he was lost. 

 

He hummed halfheartedly to the stereo as he sat his phone down in the cupholder by his stick shift. He really should decide to  _ go  _ somewhere. Driving is fun, but he shouldn’t be wasting gas like this. Lance scanned the street around him. “Hunk’s place isn’t too far from here…” he mumbled to himself.

 

He flipped his blinker to merge onto another lane, and decided to head over there. Hunk was always happy to see him, and he knew that his best friend didn’t have any classes today. Odds were he was at home, hanging out and probably cooking.

 

Lance really hoped Hunk was cooking. Food always helped his hangovers, and maybe a good plate or two of omelettes would help his mind become less of a disaster zone. 

 

He pulled into the apartment complex, parking next to a bedazzled motorcycle that Lance thought looked really fucking awesome.  _ Maybe it’s a badass motorchick, _ he thought to himself.  _ Ah man, I’d love to meet her. _ He closed his door, locked the car, and hurried across the lot to Hunk’s building. He’d memorized Hunk’s room number months ago, when Hunk had first moved in. The memory of helping his buddy move all his furniture up two flights of stairs was still fresh. Not only had they been moving a whole refrigerator up two flights of stairs, but the AC had gone out that day and it had been  _ hot. _ The true forge of friendship. Hunk had bought him a popsicle afterwards as thanks. Lance remembered fondly as he exited the stairwell and proceeded straight to the apartment that it had been orange-flavored.

 

Hunk opened the door after the third knock.

 

“Lance!” Hunk exclaimed happily with a boxy smile. “What a surprise!”

 

“Hi Hunk,” Lance smiled sheepishly. “You busy?”

 

His friend answered by pulling him inside. It was no secret to anyone that Lance loved coming over. What wasn't to love? Hunk’s place was small, but it was warm and endlessly intriguing. Ever since they'd known each other Hunk had been enamoured with how things worked, and it was evident that that passion was still there when you walked in. There wasn’t a lot of empty space, but Lance wouldn’t call it clutter. Everything was organized and neat. Lance liked that Hunk made the space feel lived in, whereas his own place paled in comparison. It hadn't been that long since Lance had visited, but he still managed to notice something different every time he came. At this point it was kind of a game he played with himself. Today it was the toaster. 

 

“I see you’re taking that apart,” he commented when he peeked his his head into the kitchen. He took a long whiff. “I also smell...what is that? Lasagna?” He looked behind him to Hunk for an answer.

 

“Correct. Also brownies if you want to stay for them.”

 

“My hero,” Lance crooned, leaning back into Hunk’s big arms. “I think I might cry.” He was delighted to hear Hunk’s laugh.

 

“Well I made enough for four, so you can feel free to join in for a late lunch. Early dinner? Whatever. You can eat with us.” The comment made Lance’s eyebrows peak.

 

“Us?” he questioned, a smug smile starting to spread across his face. “Hunk, you charmer, are you having a  _ date _ over? Is it Shay? Is she in town?”

 

His friend's face flushed and he shooed the notion away. “It’s just Pidge and Matt,” he refuted. “They’re gonna be here in like, I dunno, twenty minutes?”

 

The latter Holt mentioned garnered a reaction from Lance. “Matt?!” He repeated, surprised. “Is he back from Cape Canaveral?” 

 

“Oh yeah,” Hunk responded, rubbing his hands together. “Matt’s been back for a few weeks now. You didn’t know?”

 

“Well gee, Hunk, maybe if Matt hadn’t gotten rid of all his social media accounts like some kind of barbarian, I would be more informed.” This made Hunk laugh as he took a towel off of the oven handle and opened the door to peer at the lasagna dish inside. Lance scoffed, watching his friend scrutinize the dish with squinting eyes.

 

“You could always just text him,” Hunk suggested while closing the door again and straightening his back. His forearm swiped sweat from his forehead as his other hand flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder. 

 

“Hunk. You know that I only use snapchat to talk to anyone anymore.” Lance stood with his hands on his hips as they stared at each other.

 

Hunk receded first, shrugging his wide shoulders. “You win,” he said simply. “But back to our initial topic--yes. Matt is back in town. From  _ astronaut _ camp.” He goofily raised his eyebrows, making Matt’s accomplishments sound a bit silly, even though they both were very proud. “All the way from Florida! I’m glad he’s back.”

 

_ Not as far away as Japan, _ Lance unwillingly found himself thinking. “That’s really cool,” he said instead of mentioning Keith. “I’m really excited to see Matt again.”

 

And he was. He’d known Matt ever since high school. It was how he’d met Pidge. He and Matt--they were very similar. Both considered themselves to be ladykillers, and they both  _ were. _ As far as Lance was concerned, the only difference between him and the eldest Holt was the fact that Matt was much, much smarter. Also older. And white.

 

“Yeah, oh hey!” Hunk stood straight up in sudden alarm, swiveling on the kitchen tile to face Lance even more directly. “You know how Pidge has been living with their parents?”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

Hunk’s voice took up an oddly excited quality to it. “Well uh--I think Pidge is gonna move in. With me.”

 

The reveal made Lance’s jaw fall in excitement. “Are you serious?!” he exclaimed, the ends of his mouth tilting upwards. This was the best news he’d heard this week. Hunk laughed a bit.

 

“Of course,” he replied, obviously happy that Lance was happy. “I mean, I could always use help with the rent. They’re old enough to get a job, so they agreed they would help out and stuff. Real decent of ‘em. Oh, and Pidge isn’t that bad to live with. Or so I hear from Matt.”

 

“That’s so awesome,” Lance breathed, unable to tame the grin that was currently dominating his face. “Man, you guys living together? This place is going to turn into even more of a mad science laboratory!” 

 

The quip earned a hearty chuckle as Hunk fidgeted with a few dials on his stove before he and Lance were both instinctively gravitating towards the space that served as the living room. It was small, and a bit crowded, but it  _ did  _ include two La-Z Boys, which he and his best friend were more than happy to occupy. Lance always preferred the one on the right, because it was plusher and he felt like he had a reason to sit in it. After all, _ he _ had been the one to carry it up two flights of stairs and situated it in this exact spot, at a perfect angle to watch the television. Hunk had dubbed the recliner ‘Pablo’ after Lance’s deceased succulent from a few years ago.

 

“Lance,” said Hunk, reclining his chair.

 

“Hunk,” responded Lance, also reclining his chair. They both released simultaneous sighs of comfort.

 

“You haven’t complained about Keith in the ten minutes you’ve been here and it’s extremely out of character of you.”

 

Some kind of hissing noise escaped Lance mouth as the balloon of his growing good mood instantly deflated. He’d been doing such a good job of distracting himself from the disaster that had occurred in a bar parking lot this morning. But Hunk just had to go and mention it, didn’t he?

 

“Hunk, what did we say about using the K word?” He joked, closing his eyes. He could tell the joke had fallen flat, but was too busy trying to sink into his La-Z Boy forever to actually care.

 

“Lance,” his friend said quietly. There were muffled creaks as Hunk adjusted himself in his seat. “Did something bad happen? I can smell your hangover.” Lance’s nose scrunched up as his eyes tried to shut themselves tighter. “It has to do with Keith, doesn’t it?” Hunk tried gently. Lance didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think about it, and he definitely didn’t want to have a sappy conversation about it with his best friend. But it was Hunk. And when could Lance ever resist Hunk?

 

“I ran into him this morning,” Lance admitted. There was a quiet ‘oh’ from the other side of the room. “Also last night,” Lance added. Hunk didn’t say anything for a few moments that felt like an eternity to Lance’s mind.

 

“Well,” Hunk finally spoke up. “I don’t have a lot of advice to give you about Keith. I would just say...be careful. What happened with him this morning?”

 

He didn’t want to talk about it, but the words clawed their way out of his throat regardless. Maybe it was the comfort of the La-Z boy, maybe it was the trust he had in Hunk, or maybe it was the guilt that was starting to settle into his headspace. Whatever made him do it, he relayed the events to Hunk as best he could without getting too emotional or off-topic. When he had finished, Hunk hummed.

 

“What was that ‘ _ hmm _ ’?” Lance immediately followed up, sitting up in his chair and squinting at Hunk. “I didn’t like how that sounded.”

 

His best friend twiddled his thumbs in his lap. “I dunno man,” he answered.”It just sounds like maybe...Keith isn’t the only problem here.”

 

Lance’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Hunk!” He exclaimed. “I can’t believe this--are you taking his  _ side? _ ” Hunk raised his hands, quick to deny it.

 

“I just think that...you could’ve been more...receptive,” Hunk tried again. “Your account from this morning kind of frames you as the jerk here.”

 

“I am the  _ victim  _ here _ , _ Hunk!” Lance refuted, crossing his arms. “See, this is exactly why I didn’t want to talk about this!”

 

Hunk raised a thick eyebrow. “Because you know you’re wrong?”

 

“I--” Words fell dead on his tongue as he struggled to argue with his friend. The only thing that saved him from Hunk’s judgemental stare was a loud knock at the door. Both of their heads swiveled towards it. 

 

The Holt siblings had arrived.

 

Hunk turned back to Lance as they both got up from their respective recliners. “You’re not getting out of this,” He warned with a meaningful poke into Lance’s chest, before walking towards the front door to welcome the last dinner guests.

 

Pidge and Matt Holt were an interesting duo. Lance could vividly remember the time they had come over to his house in full cosplay and done nothing but eat cashews and chat with his mother. Both Pidge and Matt were a breed of genius that far exceeded what Lance could comprehend. Hunk was included in that as well. In fact, if memory served him right, it had been Hunk who had first introduced him and his mother to the Holt family. First to Matt, then the little sister.

 

Matt and Lance had hit it off right away, but with Pidge it had taken a little more warming up, and a few well-placed memes, to get on their good side. The two stood in the doorway now, cheesy smiles on their faces.

 

“Hey guys!” Hunk greeted, ushering them in. “What’s new?”

 

“Hi Hunk,” Pidge said cheerfully, giving their host a quick hug. Matt murmured a greeting before his eyes set on Lance, who found himself hovering back by the chairs in the living room.

 

“Lance!” He hollered, barreling over. “Buddy! I haven’t seen you in forever!” The chuckles emitting from Matt served to be contagious, and despite the toxicity of his own mood, Lance found himself joining in.

 

“Whoa, you look different,” he commented, taking a good look at the  _ New And Improved  _ Matt Holt that was standing in front of him.

 

For the past year, his friend had been in Cape Canaveral with NASA, training to be some kind of astronaut. It was wicked cool. Lance wasn’t sure of all the details but…”So did you take up lifting in Florida?” He questioned, noticing the definition in Matt’s figure that had definitely not been there before. His arms were stronger, his shoulders were more defined, and from what he could surmise--underneath those cargo pants, his calves were looking positively sculpted. Other things Lance noticed were definitely the new tan, the lack of glasses, and the new haircut. It looked a lot better than the awkward one he had sported before. Lance definitely preferred it grown out like it was now.

 

“To answer your question, no,” Matt replied good-naturedly. “NASA just puts us through a physical training kinda thing while we’re there. Gotta be fit to be an astronaut.” He flexed an arm and wiggled his eyebrows at Pidge, who scoffed.

 

“You’re tellin’ me,” Lance muttered, still trying to wrap his head around Matt’s very sudden glow-up. “Where are your glasses?” he asked next, gesturing to Matt’s eyes. “I thought you hated contacts.”

 

“Laser eye surgery. You know I’m still waiting for them to tell me how to shoot  _ actual  _ lasers from my eyes? They never got back to me about it.” Matt peered over to him and they shared a laugh before Lance’s attention was drawn in by Pidge, who stood by the doorway.

 

“We brought food!” they hollered from across the room, hoisting up a plastic bag. Lance deadpanned a look to his companion.

 

“What, did you bring like, rabbit food or something?” he said monotonously. It made Matt scoff. 

 

“Um,  _ no, _ ” He proclaimed proudly, taking two large steps to pull the grocery bag out of his sister’s hands. “For your information, Lance, it is  _ not  _ rabbit food. It’s actually--” He dug his hand inside the bag and pulled out Doritos. “--trash food, mostly. And OH, wait--” He shoved the bag of Doritos into Lance’s arms so that he could fish around in the bag again. His face lit up deviously as he pulled out his next food item. “It wouldn’t be a Holt dinner without  _ these babies _ .”

 

Matt cradled in his arm a bag of frozen peas.

 

“I just want you to know,” Lance said emotionlessly, “That you’re actual scum and I hate you and I can’t believe you’re doing this to me after you haven’t seen me in almost a year.” It took a lot of effort to keep his face still as Matt dissolved into giggles in front of him. At this point, Lance couldn’t even remember the source of the peas joke. It was lost to the trials of time and his shitty memory.

 

“Wait,” rasped Matt in between laughs. He was squeezing the bag of peas like it was stress ball and he was a college student about to take finals. His other hand kept slapping the side of his thigh like he was a grandpa making a bad joke. Lance could slowly see Matt’s face turning red from the strain of his laughter. “I only bought these because they were on sale and it was an impulse purchase  _ Lance I didn’t even know you were going to BE HERE _ .” 

 

“It’s too late,” Lance cut him off mercilessly. “You brought rabbit food into my humble abode. There are no excuses for that.”

 

“Lance,” Hunk poked his head out from the kitchen. “Are you disrespecting the guests of my home again?”

 

“No,” Lance answered, the same time Matt said, “Yes.”

 

Hunk narrowed his eyes at Lance, who in turn narrowed his eyes at Matt.

 

“Betrayer,” he breathed.

 

Matt threw the frozen peas in his face.

 

“BETRAYER!” Lance repeated louder, chasing Matt into the kitchen, aiming to hit him with his own bag of peas.

 

“Agh!” Matt cried as Lance got a strike in. “Pidge!” He reached out to his sister, who had just finished dishing up their plate of lasagna. “Pidge, help your poor brother! I’m being assaulted!”

 

Pidge lifted their plate out of the way as Matt fell to his knees, shielding his face from the relentless barrage of frozen-pea attacks.

 

“Matthew,” Pidge proclaimed. “This is what you deserve for making a frozen-pea joke as a college student. It’s called dramatic irony.” Lance cackled as Pidge passed them to collapse in the La-Z Boy he’d previously been lodged in. Slowly, Lance’s barrage of attacks stopped, his arms drooping by his sides.

 

“I’m having mercy on you,” Lance panted. “And it’s not because my arms are really fucking tired. Go eat lasagna, you piece of trash.”

 

“Thank you for your mercy,” Matt replied in a very serious tone. “It will be forever remembered.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Lance with a grin. He offered his hand to help Matt off the ground, and his friend readily took it. Together they waltzed over to Hunk, who had already thought to make plates for them.

 

“You’re an angel, Hunk,” Matt complemented, taking his plate of pasta.

 

“An ethereal being,” Lance agreed, grabbing his own as well.

 

They saved the other La-Z Boy for the cook, opting to plop down in the loveseat in between the two recliners. It was a close fit, Lance’s knee was overlapping Matt’s, but neither of them cared.

 

“Pidge,” Matt commanded, stuffing a too-big bite of lasagna in his mouth. “Remote! Please!” He made grabby gestures with his hand toward his sister, who completely ignored him and continued to eat pasta in peace. Lance, being the good bro that he was, reached over and nabbed the TV remote from the armchair and tossed it to his neighbor, who caught it. Matt muttered a thank you through a mouthful of lasagna, and pointed it at the television screen as Hunk finally sat in the last available spot. 

 

“It’s four o’clock,” Lance noted with a downward look at his phone.

 

“I know,” murmured Matt, flipping through channels until the desired one came up-- Channel 8. They were just in time to hear the beginnings of the _ Star Trek _ theme song blast from the TV speakers. Pidge let out an involuntary whoop of excitement, only to be met with a chorus of “SHHH!” from the rest of them. A rookie mistake. Everyone knew that you didn’t talk during the theme song. That was just common etiquette.

 

The rest of the afternoon went as many had in the past. They watched the allotted four episodes of classic  _ Star Trek _ that were always scheduled to play on Channel 8 at 4:00 PM. The only time it was silent was during the theme song. Commercial breaks couldn’t be heard over their chatter, and the show itself was overlayed with their light-hearted commentary. About half-way through their baby-sized marathon the lasagna ran out and Hunk brought out the brownies, which they all feasted upon gloriously. And after  _ Star Trek  _ finished showing? Hunk would lower the volume on the TV as Lynda Carter would appear on the screen decked out in her iconic superhero uniform. Lance and Matt would watch intently and Hunk would branch off into some other conversation topic with Pidge. Their voices would decrease from excited hollers building on top of each other to amused mutterings of a joke to the person next to them, and slowly the only source of light would become the screen in front. Blankets would appear out of nowhere. Voices would start to fade, and before anyone knew it, Matt had fallen asleep on Lance’s shoulder. Its next victim would be Pidge. Then it would just be Lance and Hunk, up at an ungodly hour of the night cleaning things up. They would quietly pick things off the floor, find dirty dishes, or prop one of the Holts into a more comfortable sleeping position. Finding quiet things to do in order not to disturb the ones dozing.

 

Tonight, Lance and Hunk found themselves quietly scrubbing dishes in the kitchen sink. The time was 1:18 AM. They had been silent for well over ten minutes, so Lance’s startled squeak when Hunk began to say something felt justified.

 

“We still haven’t talked about your Keith problem,” Hunk reminded his friend gently, with a soft nudge in his side. Lance suppressed a yawn, too emotionally and physically burnt out to give his best friend much of a reaction. He handed Hunk a dish to dry and tried to focus on the task in front of him.

 

“Can we talk about this later?” he whispered, pulling a bowl out of soapy sink water to scrub. “When it’s not super-duper early? And when I’m...I don’t know. More ready.”

 

Hunk looked over to peer at the time on the stove. “That’s reasonable,” he agreed, arms raising above his head in a stretch. “I just want you to be okay and not hold stuff in like you sometimes do. You know?” Hunk paused for Lance to have input, and when he didn’t speak up, his friend continued speaking. “We’ve done most of the cleaning up, bud. I’m sure the rest of the dishes can wait until tomorrow. Wanna head to bed?”

 

Mutely, Lance nodded. The routine was that Lance would sleep in Pablo the La-Z Boy, and Hunk would retire to his own bed. So they followed their automatic routine, and Lance was glad to crash into the recliner. He closed his eyes, ready to embrace sleep. But unlike what usually happened, it didn’t come. Lance found himself lying awake, suddenly unable to shut down his brain. The day of fun and activity had been a nice distraction for a while, but Hunk’s comment about his love life had been an unwelcome reminder of the drama he was currently caught in.

 

The more Lance thought about it the more he regretted the conversation ever happening. He wished that for once he could’ve just shut his big mouth. It was frustrating, always having his thoughts out of his mouth before he could catch them. If Keith had just caught him on any other morning--maybe it would have happened different. Maybe instead of sulking in the dark listening to Matt snore, he would be at his house sleeping soundly because he was about to finally heal the wound in his chest that was made up of the remnants of what they had had. Lance could finally stop feeling like there was salt being rubbed on an open sore every time he saw his ex-boyfriend. He could even stop lying internally a little, and make it more believable to himself that he’d actually moved on after three pathetic years. 

 

Keith had said he wanted to fix things. It was hard to believe, since Keith and Healing were practically antonyms, but if Keith was making an effort to try and change things for the better, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to try and appease him? To ease both of their consciences, if nothing else. If he ignored all the pent-up anger and frustration and heartbreak still left over from their breakup, it was feasible. If he ignored how Keith had hurt his pride, betrayed his trust, and left him like he was some kind of nobody. Maybe then it was feasible.

 

Besides, Lance thought crossly as his hand dove into his pocket and found his phone. There’s no way he could contact Keith anyway. His fingers numbly put in his password and easily pulled up his contacts list. He had deleted Keith’s number years ago in a fit of irascible angst and frustration. His thumb scrolled down the alphabetized list of numbers. Past his brother, past at least four contacts labeled ‘Don’t Answer’, past his father and Hunk all the way down to the Ks.

 

Keith’s name stared at him in bolded script on his screen. It was impossible, but there it was, right next to the Call Icon that was so completely clickable. So his thumb pressed it before he could think anything, and his phone pulled itself to his ear.

 

The phone dialed, then ringed. And ringed. And ringed. And ringed. He was frozen, listening to the same monotonous ring repeat itself over, and over in his ears _please pick up_ \--

 

“Lance.”

 

It wasn’t Keith’s voice.

 

There was no phone in Lance’s hand. He wasn’t calling anyone.

 

There was just Hunk, standing over him with a quilt in his arms.

 

“Sorry to wake you,” Hunk whispered in the dark. “But you looked cold. Do you want a blanket?”

 

Hunk started to tuck him in without waiting for an answer.

 

“Were you having a nightmare?” His friend questioned unsurely, standing straight again as he finished. Without a sound, Lance shook his head and rolled over. 

 

“Ok, well. Goodnight, Lance.” The soft plodding of Hunk’s feet could be heard walking down the hall to where his bedroom was. Lance closed his eyes again.

 

But he couldn’t forget the sound of endless ringing in his ears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sosososososo sorry for the delay, guys. Writers block and school have been unkind. I promise you that i havent given up on Homecoming, she's really my baby :''') but summer is almost here and hopefully then i'll be writing a SHIT TON considering the fact that season 6 is so close i can almost touch it. 
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading. feel free to leave comments, im thirsty for validation and i always love hearing feedback! have a good day guys


	9. Blue Raspberry, Mango, Cherry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHOUT OUT TO MY GOOD FRIEND JULIA the whole part with africa by toto was completely inspired by real events, i literally just took smth that happened to me and her and used it in this fic, lol
> 
> have some fluff <3

**THREE YEARS AGO**

 

“All I’m saying,” Hunk voiced passionately, “Is that Blue Raspberries aren’t found in nature. It’s just as artificial as say, Mountain Dew. You know that stuff is totally fake, right?”

 

“LIES!” Lance shouted back from across the basement, where he was protected by a blockade of couch cushions. “BLUE RASPBERRY WILL FOREVER REIGN AS THE BEST FLAVOR!” He hooked his slushie straw into his mouth and took a loud slurp, glaring at Hunk all the while.

 

“Mango is much better!” Hunk protested from his own fort of pillows. “It’s an actual fruit, AND it always tastes fresh! Blue Raspberry is  _ gross _ , Lance! It’s just sugary syrup.” They narrowed their eyes at each other as Hunk took an even louder slurp out of his styrofoam cup. “Besides,” Hunk continued, “Do you really want your tongue stained blue for like an hour?” Lance was reduced into incredulous sputterings. 

 

“HUNK! You--you uncultured  _ swine. _ That’s the coolest part! The best part!”

 

“It makes you look ridiculous.”

 

“More like it makes YOU look ridiculous for not having a BLUE TONGUE!”

 

Hunk raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “Your logic never fails to astound me,” he said dryly, wincing as Lance chucked a pillow in his direction. “Hey!” He whined. “This is a ceasefire!”

 

“You broke the sacred law!”

 

“Which is?”

 

“NO BLASPHEMING!”

 

Hunk let out a half laugh, half scoff as another pillow was thrown in his direction. “Excuse  _ you," _ he said while gathering cushions into his arms. “If I am correct, you have been doing  _ nothing _ but blaspheming ever since you called this ceasefire. You broke the sacred law first, my friend. And you know what that means.”

 

Slowly Hunk stood, a towering figure above Lance, who was crouched on the ground behind his puny fortress. There was a malevolent twinkle in his friend’s eye as Lance realized what was about to happen. Heart racing in partial terror, partial jubilation, he tried begging for mercy.

 

“You had your chance,” Hunk boomed, raising his hands, which held three pillows in each. “But now it is time for….” He paused and tried to hide a giggle from escaping his mouth. Lance, in his position of helpless terror, tried to do the same and failed. 

 

Together, they screamed “SWIFT JUSTICE!” And Hunk came down on him like death incarnate.

 

“Hunk!” Lance gasped through the barrage of pillow attacks. He tried holding his hands above his head, but it did nothing to stop the unstoppable force of Swift Justice. Hunk was an attacking machine, and Lance couldn’t fight back because he was too busy being hit in the face with multiple pillows.

 

“You win!” Lance called out in the chaotic maelstrom of whirling pillows. “Hunk, you win!”

 

The storm of attacks abated. Hunk, slightly out of breath, narrowed his eyes. “Say it,” he told his friend. 

 

Lance grunted, as if even the notion of admitting Mango was the better slushie flavor pained him. He pantomimed spitting onto Hunk’s shoe.

 

“Blue Raspberry shall reign forever,” he rasped, as Hunk’s eyes widened.

 

“Deceit!” He hissed. “You know the price to pay for such lies! DEATH!” Lance squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the final blow.

 

“Boys,” came the distant call of Mrs. Garrett. “Stop yelling down there. Can you please roleplay quietly?” Hunk froze in mid-attack, pillow inches away from Lance’s face.

 

“We aren’t roleplaying!” They yelled in tandem, starting to feel their faces flush.

 

“We weren’t roleplaying,” Lance repeated to himself, pouting a little and taking his slushie back into his hands like a protective mother over her baby.

 

“But maybe we should take down the pillow forts?” Hunk suggested mildly. “Dinner is probably almost ready upstairs.”

 

They both sniffed the air thoughtfully. “Hunk. Your nose is better. What do you smell?”

 

“Hmmm…” Hunk took a few long whiffs of air. “I smell something that was definitely grilled. Meat. White meat.”

 

“Kebabs?” Lance guessed excitedly. “Hunk, that nose of yours is amazing.”

 

“I try my best,” Hunk replied humbly.

 

The two of them started lifting pillows and cushions and fitting them back into their original and intended positions. This was a familiar routine, as they often made a mess of things whenever they hung out. Hunk’s parents called them up for dinner again, and the two scurried excitedly up the stairs. Buttery light contrasted the darkness from Hunk’s basement. The smell of freshly prepared food hit their nostrils and they giggled as they raced each other to the dining room. Lance remembered to be careful as he stepped onto the tile, knowing it had been scrubbed recently and could still be slippery. 

 

“Kebabs,” Hunk confirmed with a nudge in Lance’s ribs as they sat down in his picnic-style dining table. “You were right!”

 

Hungrily the two boys dug in, asking for seconds and then for thirds. All the while they maintained a vivacious conversation through food-filled mouths that spanned all types of topics. Hunk’s parents humoured them by staying relatively silent, engrossed in their own conversation consisting of amused looks at each other and smiles as they tried each others’ cooking. As the boys bit into their kebabs Hunk started talking about his engineering project, which spread to Lance’s paranoia about robots inside your phones, which turned into talking about their levels on the latest Nintendo app as they cleared their plates, which turned into looking at their phones and Lance wanting to listen to music. As they did the dishes, Hunk suggested they listen to eighties hits. With them, that era of music was always a safe bet.

 

“Ooh, I have a playlist on Spotify for that,” Lance said immediately, digging out his phone.

 

“The computer player is better,” added Hunk as he stuck his plate in the dishwasher.

 

“Then we’ll do it on your laptop,” Lance conceded. “To your room!” Hunk held up a soapy spoon.

 

“To my room!” he echoed.

 

They were only two steps away from the sink when Mr. and Mrs. Garrett collectively cleared their throats. Hunk turned around guiltily, thumbs twiddling at his chest.

 

“Mom, Dad,” he said while looking up at them with a pout. “I promise I will do the dishes after Lance leaves the house.” After a second of a parental staredown, Hunk added, “And vacuum the basement. And clean the grill. And--”

 

“Just go,” his father relented with a smile and a sigh, ushering his son forward towards the stairs.

 

“Wow,” Lance commented while climbing the stairs. “You can really cute your way out of anything, huh Hunk?”

 

“Oh please,” his friend snorted from behind. “It only works with Mom and Dad.”

 

“And Mrs. Montgomery,” Lance supplied. “Oh, and my mom. My abuela. And me, obviously. That’s pretty much everybody.”

 

Hunk acquired a warm flush to his face, as he did often when he was praised. “Geez, Lance.” he replied sheepishly. “You’re going to attract flies with how much honey you’re slathering on right now.” Lance only graced him with a cheesy smile and a playful pull on the back of his headband. 

 

When they reached Hunk’s room, the first thing Lance did was flop onto Hunk’s humongous bed. He liked his best friend’s room because it was so different from his own. Hunk was an only child, the only available recipient of Mrs. and Mr. Garrett’s love and attention. He had an entire room to himself, he had an entire  _ bed _ to himself. Lance, over the course of his short sixteen years of existence, had shared his room with his brothers, cousins, and at one point his grandfather. It was to the point where he wasn't even sure he could call it  _ his _ room. Who was to say it wasn't Marco’s room? Or Luis’s? But Hunk’s room was Hunk’s. There was no dispute. From the neatly organized college and classical music posters taped on the walls, the photo album documenting their friendship that their moms had created together, to the carefully arranged assortment of cookbooks sitting by Hunk’s laptop, Lance’s best friend was present in every inch of this space. And Lance loved it. To him it felt like a place he could come for refuge, comfort, or in this specific case: listen to eighties music. 

 

“Put on the tunes,” Lance said, his voice muffled as he let himself sink into Hunk's pillows. 

 

He could hear Hunk’s feet walk across the carpet and the quiet hum of the laptop as it warmed up. Then, quietly a song started to play. Lance’s ear picked it up immediately, recognizing it for what it was.

 

“Wait, Hunk,” Lance sputtered, lifting his face from the pillows. “Turn it up. Is this what I think it is?” Sure enough, his brain instantly recognized the synth-y tune of the song, the drums, and the masculine yet delicate vocals.

 

Hunk, who had decided to lounge in his office chair, decided to make a whimsical spin in it as he answered, “Lance, you know we only tolerate bops in this house.” With excited urgency, Lance jumped off the bed to confirm that yes, it was indeed his favorite song.

 

“ _ Africa  _ by Toto,” Lance read aloud, staring at the title with glee. “Hunk, you’re like, my soulmate. Have I told you this?”

 

“You may have mentioned it,” said Hunk as he scrolled through Lance’s playlist with nonchalance. As Lance’s eyes grazed the screen again, his stare was caught by another, smaller line of text reading the title of his favorite song. He put his pointer finger near the screen in a confused gesture. 

 

“Does this mean someone else is listening to Africa?” Without waiting for his friend’s answer, Lance leaned in closer. “Like, right now? Who is this?”

 

Hunk delicately pulled him away from the screen. “Yes, it does mean that. And that guy--well that’s Keith. I friended him on Spotify. Didnt you?”

 

“No!” Lance exclaimed, his face somewhere between excited and slightly angry. “He never told  _ me _ about it.” It was a playful exasperation that Hunk was familiar with seeing displayed on his friend’s face. The tilt of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes. Hunk felt some kind of dramatic rant coming on. Sure enough, Lance whipped his phone out. “I’m calling him,” he announced, dialing the number and putting the receptor up to his ear before Hunk could say anything. Keith apparently picked up on the third ring. Lance had a certain spark in his eye, an energy that was too obvious in the bouncing of his knee and how his tongue pushed on his left cheek as he fought a smile. Hunk didn't know why, but Lance found a special joy in initiating debates with Keith. Maybe he liked how easily their new friend took the bait and rose to the challenge.

 

“Keith,” Lance greeted immediately. “Are you listening to  _ Africa _ by Toto at this exact moment in time?” The volume was just loud enough for Hunk to hear that there was a reply, but not what Keith said. “Well--” Lance interrupted. “Well that’s like my favorite song ever and get this, we were listening to it at the exact same time. Isn't that crazy? Like some kind of destiny stuff or something.” 

 

There was another pause as Lance listened to Keith’s reply. Curiously, Hunk nudged Lance’s side. 

 

“What’s he saying?” He whispered. Lance pulled the phone from his ear and put it on speaker, placing it in between them on the bed. Keith’s voice crackled over the audio, sounding quiet.

 

“Like, the synths and the way the chorus melds with the music is just--so great--”

 

Lance and Hunk made eye contact. 

 

“I got him talking about the song,” Lance whispered, a small smile playing on his lips. Hunk smiled too. He wasn’t aware that Keith liked eighties music, but now that he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine Keith listening to pop hits. Or classical music. Or rap. Maybe country? Blinking, he tuned back into Keith’s ramble, to which Lance was adding in sounds of agreement and small ad libs. It surprised Hunk a little that Lance and Keith were able to have such a passionate conversation about something they agreed on. Usually their other conversations were a lot less involved. The only times Hunk could think of that compared were when he was witness to their petty but friendly arguments. They now seemed a lot closer than he had thought.

 

When had that happened?

 

Keith professed, “People say it’s one of the best songs ever produced in the 1980s and honestly--”

  
Lance cut in, “I completely agree--” 

  
“Right? It’s just--it’s like, even the singer said that the song’s meaning was up to your own interpretation and--” Keith’s voice suddenly grew quiet. Then a whispered, “ _Hold on,”_ to them before more silence. Lance’s eyebrows were climbing higher and higher up his forehead in interest. 

 

“Did he hang up?” Hunk asked tentatively. He reached his hand out towards the phone, only to have it be slapped away by Lance. Hunk looked up to his friend’s face, and saw that he was urgently being shushed. “Lance--” Hunk started to say, but he was interrupted by one of Lance’s palms across his mouth. Gross. He was about to comment on that, too, when Lance’s sudden movement downward startled him. His friend had put his head extremely close to the phone. Instead of just picking it up like a normal person. Hunk tsked. Typical Lance behavior.

 

“Do you hear that?” Lance asked him, his eyes flicking from the phone to Hunk and back.

 

For a slight moment, there was nothing. But then--Hunk had the instinct to lean in closer to the phone too. Other the sound of their own breathing, Hunk could hear it. The faint sound of a few voices, seemingly loud and aggravated. An argument? Slowly, Lance turned the volume of his phone all the way up. Hunk watched the volume bar slowly fill to the brim. Lance’s expression was no longer playful, but thoughtful, and Hunk thought he could spot the pessimistic edge of his mind that sometimes made an appearance. Hunk couldn’t make out any individual words in the audio, just sharp consonants and an escalation in volume and intensity. There was a slam--it sounded like the slam of a door. Then a slow, drawn-out groan, which Hunk did recognize as Keith’s voice.

 

There was small static noise from some kind of movement on the other side of the line. 

 

“I have to go,” said Keith, his voice suddenly more tired than it had been before. The passion that had been in his voice earlier was gone. Then, without waiting for a reply, the call was ended.

 

“What the fuck,” was the first thing out of Lance’s mouth. The second thing to come out was also, “What the fuck.”

 

Lance looked at Hunk, eyes wide.

 

“What the fuck,” he said.

 

Hunk made a vague sound that was supposed to mean he didn’t know.

 

Lance let out a confused breath. Then his gaze sharpened and he whipped his head up in decision. “I’m going over there right now to see what’s up.” His spine straightened and he made as if he were really about to get up.

 

“Lance, wait,” Hunk stopped his friend by grabbing his hand. “Do you know what you would even say when you show up unannounced at Keith’s door?” Lance’s lips pursed.

 

“Well, no--”

 

“Do you have your own transportation there?”

 

“Well,  _ no--” _

 

“Do you even have any idea where Keith lives?”

 

Lance’s eyes narrowed as he wrinkled his nose.

 

“No,” he admitted.

 

“So maybe,” Hunk said slowly. “That’s actually a horrible plan that’s based on something you vaguely heard over a phone call and your own assumptions?” He helped guide his friend back onto the bed, even though he still looked conflicted.

 

“You’re right,” Lance said hesitantly, letting out a sigh and withdrawing his hand from Hunk’s to rub the back of his neck. “I’m making a big deal out of nothing, probably.” Still, Hunk saw the guilty glance at the phone screen.

 

“Hey,” he said, standing up. “Lance, did you want to listen to eighties music or what? One song is a pretty wimpy time to me. We need to listen to a-ha at  _ least _ once.”

 

A small smirk of a smile placed itself on Lance’s mouth and he laughed. “What are you waiting for, then?”

 

Hunk reached over to press the play button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so maybe i love hunk.
> 
> also season 6! very excited! i missed vld im glad shes finally back :'')
> 
> tysm for clicking on this fic and reading 9 chapters of it! please leave me your thoughts in the comments, i love reading them~~
> 
> have a good day guys!


	10. Maybe It's Easier Than You Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i really like this chapter. this fanfiction is obviously klance-central, but that doesn't mean that other characters aren't important too. lance wasn't the only person keith knew before he left!!

**PRESENT DAY**

 

Keith wakes up to his phone alarm that morning with heavy eyes.

 

He has it set to music to ease the pain of existing before noon, but as he irritably swipes through his phone to turn off whatever the song is playing, he doesn’t feel soothed. Even if it was _Toto_ playing, a bitter taste lingered in the back of his throat and his eyes were crusty and Keith was _pretty_ sure he had some fucked-up dreams last night that he can only half remember. It’s the heaviest he’s slept since he’s been in town--and it seemed out of place, considering how fate and destiny have been out for his ass since he got here. He _should_ be wide awake at night with a bat in his hand, ready to attack the second some unknown power decides to try shit. 

 

But, as much as he would like to return into the nothingness of sleep, he’s awake. Rubbing an eye he took another look at his phone. It’s nearly noon. He emitted a sigh. That’s at least five hours of doing nothing until his workshift. 

 

The unfamiliar sound of kitchenware filled Keith’s ears as he became a bit more aware of his surroundings. His nose picked up a savory smell coming from outside his room. It takes Morning Keith a minute to figure it out, as it is Morning Keith’s brain and his senses are a tad slower than a Regular Keith’s. But it  _ did  _ appear that the smell is food. Being cooked. In a kitchen. Where food is usually cooked.

 

It was unusual to Keith that someone would be up before him, let alone cooking food. He was so used to being independent. Back in Japan, his grandfather had never been one for making fancy food. Keith was the same. He was content with buying microwavable meals from the grocery store. That was basically how they had existed, eating instant meals while watching whatever was on the television. But this smell...could it be…?

 

Keith sniffed once more, the savory scent finally persuading him to move his heavy legs off of the mattress they were sprawled across. The wood floor was cold and unforgiving to his bare toes. He winced as he stood on them. To be fair, Shiro  _ had _ told him to wear socks. As he opened his door, Keith could overhear music being played in the kitchen. And if he was right, his brother singing along to it. It was ridiculous enough to draw him out of his room and into the main area of the apartment

 

“Shiro, what are you doing?” he asked, staring at the commotion that was currently taking place in their kitchen. There was a pan on the stove, an electric griddle on the island to Shiro’s left that he was minding, and he was whisking a bowl vigorously in his left arm with a whisk. Keith was trying to ignore the apron around his brother’s person that he was pretty sure had the word _Daddy_ written on it somewhere.

 

“I’m cooking,” answered Shiro with a blank face. “Breakfast. For us. Bacon, pancakes, eggs. The works.”

 

Keith’s mouth watered as he stared at the bacon simmering on the pan behind his brother.   
  
“Thank you,” he said, still a little wide-eyed. “Is today some kind of special occasion?”

 

Shiro stopped whisking and poured the yellow egg-y liquid into another waiting pan. “Uh oh, you caught me,” he said good-naturedly. “Do you still like your eggs scrambled?”   
  
“Yes, but what’s today?” Keith couldn’t remember anything significant about today’s date. It couldn’t be a birthday, both of theirs were too far off. Shiro gave Keith a knowing and slightly smug smile. Keith had the dreadful feeling his brother was about to make a joke.

 

“It’s Saturday, dear brother. The first one you’ve been here for, actually. What other reason to cook a nice breakfast for the two of us?” Keith narrowed his eyes, put off by the pleasantness of that tone.

  
“You’re being...really nice to me,” he said slowly, watching the food cook warily as he slid into a stool against the island. His brother was wearing that particular smile--the ‘ _ you can’t really say no’ _ one that Keith was all too familiar with. “What’s your real motivation?”   
  


Shiro flipped a pancake on the griddle, checking that it wasn’t burnt. His eyes were too busy minding the food to make contact with Keith’s eagle-like stare of scrutiny. But Keith saw the red tinting the tips of Shiro’s ears, and knew that he was right. 

 

“So maybe I feel guilty about initiating your really awkward first conversation with a certain ex-boyfriend--” His guilty explanation was cut off by Keith’s groan.

 

“Shiro, it’s literally got nothing to do with you,” he protested. “And can we go one day in this house without talking about it? One hour? Seriously.” He threw his hands up in the air tiredly.

 

Shiro puckered his lips. “Actually this is an apartment.”   
  
Keith gave his brother a very ugly look. Shiro mocked him by recycling the look and giving it back to him. Keith glared harder. It was too early for this.

 

“Look,” said Shiro, breaking the silence. “I’m just trying to say I’m sorry. For pushing it onto you. I should’ve been a little more conscious of your boundaries that night. And I  _ didn’t _ know that Lance would come by to get his car the next morning.”

 

Keith sighed. He was too tired to really be upset. “It’s okay,” he breathed, setting his chin on his hand. “I think I needed it.” At that, Shiro raised one thick eyebrow.

 

“Did you now?” He asked, while flipping a pancake with one hand and stirring eggs with the other. Keith never got how his brother could multitask so efficiently.

 

“Yeah, I mean...seeing him and seeing what he’s like now, it’s…” Keith bit his lip as he thought of words that could describe how he felt. “I mean, he’s different. He’s changed. And at first I was really scared of talking to him because I knew he’d be mad but--I can’t run from it. And the longer we go on without resolving things, the worse things will get.”

 

Shiro took a moment to really look at him. Then, fondly and with a smile he said, “That’s very mature of you, Keith. I think it’s the right decision.” Keith grinned back as Shiro slid a plate of assorted breakfast foods in front of him. “Dig in,” Shiro added. “Do you want orange juice?”

 

Shiro poured him a glass and they wolfed down breakfast together. While he chewed on a bite of crispy bacon, a feeling of nostalgia hit him. Nothing here specifically reminded Keith of the past, they...had never had anything like this. But eating breakfast with his brother did remind him of just how much he loved him. And how glad he was to see him again.

 

As Keith was scraping the last of the eggs into his mouth, Shiro suddenly bolted up from his own stool. “Shit,” he heard Shiro mutter, as he rushed to the fridge.

 

“What’s wrong?” Keith asked, head cocked to the side. Shiro let out a dreadful moan and slid a hand through his hair. 

 

“I was gonna bake something for the new neighbor--but I totally forgot to go shopping for the ingredients--but I need time to prep for it and if I go shopping, well, I still need to do schoolwork too--” Shiro took a slip of paper from underneath a magnet and stared at it sadly. “I was really looking forward to making that.”

 

Keith leaned forward toward his brother faster than Shiro could blink. “I’ll do it,” he offered immediately. “I’ll go shopping. You do prep or do homework or whatever you need to do. Then we can both deliver it to them. Or I can deliver it. Whatever works.”

 

Shiro’s eyes were wide with surprise. “Oh. Okay, well--” he held out the paper to Keith. “Here’s the ingredient list….thank you?”

 

Keith pulled the list out of Shiro’s hand with eagerness. Not only would this help Shiro out, but it would give him something to do. Keith may have slept in until noon, but he had not been looking forward to spending the rest of the day doing nothing while he waited for his shift to come around. This was the perfect opportunity. He could go out, see the town, remember how to get around, and maybe have a fun time doing it.

 

“I’ll give you the keys to the van,” Shiro suggested, tapping the list. “You can’t carry groceries on your ten speed bike. You can drive alright, right?”

 

If he was being honest, Keith wasn’t too confident in his driving skills at the moment. In Japan he had mainly gotten around by bike. It had probably been years since he’d sat in a driver’s seat, but he was sure he’d be fine. They said driving was just like riding a bike, you never really forget.

 

But as Keith gave Shiro a thumbs-up and clutched the keys to the van in his fist, he secretly  hoped it would be a lot more similar to riding a bike than just that.

 

_____________________________

 

Driving a car is not like riding a bicycle. There are a lot of differences, actually, between a sidewalk and a four lane road. A lot of differences between pedaling hard to get up a hill and pressing the gas instead of the brake on your way down. When you drive you have to know what streets are coming up, what streets you’ve passed, and what street your even  _ on. _

 

Keith knew none of these things.

 

“C’mon,” he muttered to himself, finger tapping on the wheel impatiently as he glanced down to Google Maps for the fifth time in the past ten seconds. According to it, he was going in the right direction to find this place. It was the only faith he had in that moment that he was not completely and utterly lost amid traffic signs and angry drivers. Keith had never been particularly attentive to road signs before he had left, but his three year hiatus was surely no help. Neither was his impatience. He had been moving at a snail’s pace for going on fifteen minutes now. At this rate, his little errand that he’d taken up for his brother would last him all afternoon. “I should’ve biked,” he said aloud to no one in particular. He glanced to his left, at another car that was stuck in traffic. The driver looked about just as dead as Keith felt.

 

“ _ Turn right in one thousand feet, _ ” instructed Siri’s mechanical voice.  _ “Then you will reach your destination. _ ”

 

Keith’s eyebrows rose. “About time,” he said quietly. The queue of cars he was in creeped to a full stop again. He glanced at himself in the side mirror and silently thought,  _ yikes. _

 

He’d basically got into the car straight after a shower and he looked like it. His hair was still pretty damp and it crept out of his hastily-pushed on beanie like a hermit crab from its shell. His hair clung to his neck, which the water made darker than usual which made Keith’s complexion look almost sickly in comparison. Add slight bags under his eyes, an impatient hitch in his eyebrows, and his baggy sweatshirt and joggers, he looked like well--kind of shit. The wet look was not a good one.

 

The line of cars began to move again.

 

“ _ Turn right _ ,” said Siri.

 

Keith looked to his right and almost sighed in relief. There, like a heavenly beacon, stood Jojo’s Big Baking Mart. Fucking finally. Its neon pink sign blinked at him benevolently as if to say,  _ It’s okay, you’re safe now. _ The parking lot wasn’t full which hopefully meant that the check-out lines would be fast and he could go back  _ home. _

 

“ _ You have arrived at your destination _ ,” Siri announced.

 

He parked horribly, somehow taking up all of his space and half of the one next to him, and he was sure some poor driver later on would hate him for it but he was so relieved to be out of that thing that he didn’t care. Keith rushed into the store without looking back at his horrible park-job.

 

“Welcome to Jojo’s Big Baking Mart,” recited a bubble-gum mouthed employee as he stepped through the automatic doors. “Can I help you with anything?”

 

“Can you…” Keith looked down at the list. “Can you tell me where to find this brand of frosting?”

 

The employee looked down, smacking on their gum. “Oh, that’s gonna be in aisle four.” They vaguely pointed to one side of the store.

 

“Uh, thanks,” Keith replied, heading in that direction. Shiro had said to specifically go to this store because it was the only one that had a special brand of frosting that he wanted to use. Keith had no idea when baking had become one of his brother’s hobbies, but he secretly hoped it would come in handy when his birthday rolled along in the autumn.  


He turned into aisle four, expecting it to be empty, and almost ran into something bright yellow and warm. The yellow was bright as hell, and Keith felt a tad like he was being visibly assaulted. But after a moment of fervently blinking, Keith saw it definitely had words on it, and those words definitely said,  _ At Jojo’s Big Baking Mart, Everything is Bigger AND Better!  _ And the more he looked at it, he realized that it wasn’t a  _ something  _ at all, it was an employee vest on the back of someone with amazingly broad shoulders and impressive height.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, feeling kind of embarrassing and attempting to edge past him. But in surprise, the employee jumped up, knocking into Keith anyway and backing him into the shelf behind, which caused some cans to drop on the shiny tile floor. “Sorry,” Keith said immediately, bending down to pick them up. The employee turned around above him.

“Totally my fault, dude,” the man replied sheepishly. “Ah, I can clean it up if you…” Keith came back up, cans of bakeable pastry batter cradled in his arms. The worker had stopped speaking, and as Keith looked at him, he knew why.

The cocoa skin, wide shoulders, and the warm eyes were the same. The height, the headband, and a strange look in his direction were not. ‘

“Er…” Keith rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Keith?” Hunk asked, still disbelievingly.

“Yes,” he affirmed, looking down at the cans in his arms instead of at Hunk. He should probably work on putting them back--

“He...Lance said you were back but...I mean, I never really saw you.” They both winced at the mention of Lance’s name. Keith turned to start shelving. Maybe if he was busy this would be easier to digest for them both.

“I guess I thought it was too good to be true,” Hunk continued, not waiting to lean over and take some cans from Keith to start helping.

“ _ Good _ ,” Keith couldn’t help but repeat the word incredulously. How could Hunk look at him and think  _ good? _

Hunk shrugged, the hint of a smile across his face. It wasn’t all there, but it was still something. More than Keith had gotten thus far. “Maybe despite all the shit, I’ve missed you.”

Hunk placed the last can on the shelf and they faced each other. He was standing there in a store aisle wearing a cheesy neon yellow vest and a smile that was somehow brighter than it and it hit Keith then, not for the first time, how much he liked Hunk. Missed Hunk. Wanted to talk to Hunk, hang out with Hunk. See a movie, or something. Anything. He remembered the boy he had walked to class with, gotten burgers with, laughed about cat videos and anime with.

Keith cleared his throat. 

“Can...I hug you?” He asked quietly, not sure exactly where the line was drawn in a situation like this. The break had been somehow more and less messy with Hunk than it had been with Lance.  _ With Lance, _ he thought fleetingly,  _ as least I know where I stand. _

(A slammed car door, sour words, and a look meant to kill.)

Hunk sighed. “Yeah,” he answered after a second, spreading his arms. “Bring it in. I’m too sentimental for this.”

They wasted no time, wrapping each other in their own embraces, Hunk getting a little (only a little) tearful. God, Hunk was warm. It felt good.   
  
“When does your shift end?” Keith asked into Hunk’s shoulder.

“I can make it happen now,” Hunk rushed to answer. “We need to talk. Oh, big time we need to talk.” He ended the hug and gestured behind him. “Give me a minute.” 

Hunk walked away briskly, presumably to get off his shift or someone to cover him. Keith rubbed his arm, unsure if a conversation with him was really worth Hunk’s effort. He didn’t want his friend (friend?) to get into trouble because of him. But it was probably for the best. For their relationship, anyway.  _ Hunk was an easy-going guy _ , he thought as he tried to continue his shopping, dropping ingredients into a basket he had found at the front of the aisle.  _ Maybe this is a good place to start...repairing things. _

He and Hunk met at the register after he’d been checked out. His friend had changed out of the neon vest and now just wore a herringbone shirt over casual jeans.

“I carpooled today,” Hunk stated as Keith bagged his groceries. “So are you good with driving me home?” Keith hefted the plastic sacks up in his hands and nodded. Hunk followed after him. “Great, thanks,” he continued enthusiastically. “Also, sorry if I’m talking too much. You know me. I talk when I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Keith replied as coolly as he could. The automatic doors whisked open in front of him, Hunk and the employee by the door said goodbye to each other. He found it comforting that Hunk was so open about his feelings of anxiety. At least now he knew he wasn’t the only one. They walked together towards Shiro’s minivan.

“Wow,” Hunk commented brutally. “You park heinously. You know, they say gays can’t drive, and you’re really not proving them wrong.” 

Keith sighed and rolled his eyes before tossing his keys to Hunk, who took the cue to unlock the back for him so he could unload.

“So like,” Hunk started again. “Can I just get some facts real quick? My only source of information regarding you has been Lance and he’s not exactly reliable when it comes to you.” 

The comment forced a harsh laugh from Keith’s throat.

“What has he been telling you?” Keith asked, as he pointedly avoided eye contact by making sure all the groceries were put away.

“He says he’s tired of seeing you every time he turns around,” Hunk answered, climbing into the passenger seat. “He complains about it too much and too loudly. So we both know that’s not why he’s actually upset. I think the  _ real _ reason is plenty obvious.”

“You have a point,” Keith amended quickly, closing the door and hopping over to the driver’s seat. He was starting to generate nervous energy. He could feel it and he was sure Hunk could see it plain as day. He shook his hands for a second as he sat down and pushed the key into the ignition. He was fine until his mouth opened of its own volition. He hadn’t really been thinking of starting off the conversation this way, or any way, but the sentence was already half out of his mouth and honestly, Keith really just wanted to get it out of the way.

“I think I want to work things out with Lance,” he let out, over the start of the engine. “Like, completely. I want to apologize, I want to...fix things.”

Even as he looked behind him, focused on driving, he could feel Hunk’s eyes on him. Careful, and hesitant. 

“Like…” Hunk’s voice drawled out. “Like...fix things how? Like you want to get back together?”

The absurd suggestion forced Keith to chuckle humorlessly. “God, no. I can’t even imagine that right now.”

After all the stupid shit they had both pulled, Keith wasn’t sure if they would ever really work out together. The feelings, they’d been there (they still were), but the stability and the mental readiness hadn’t. Maybe things were different now, maybe they could try again, but at the moment...Lance wouldn’t even talk to him. Keith was more focused on repairing their friendship than anything else. Romance was an afterthought. An added bonus.

Hunk let out a breath. “Good,” he said back. “Because Lance really isn’t ready for that. And I think…” Hunk smacked his lips . “I don’t think it would be the healthiest thing for him right now.” Keith nodded, agreeing even though he was slightly puzzled by the comment. He wasn’t sure it would be best for  _ anyone _ involved. Too much happening all at once. He was content enough just to iron out the wrinkles. He didn’t need anything more, and he hadn’t come here for anything more. 

“Do you…” Hunk trailed off quietly, sighing into his hand. “What Lance said about where you went...was that true?”

“I went to Japan to live with my relative there,” Keith answered truthfully. “My grandfather. It was...sudden. I didn’t really have time to tell everyone.”

“Anyone,” Hunk corrected. Keith winced. “Does Lance know that?” 

“I tried to explain, but I don’t think he wants to hear the full story. We had a run-in yesterday…”

“Ah. I heard.” His passenger adjusted himself in the seat. “So, what? You just now came back?”

Keith made a noise of agreement, looking behind him before switching lanes.

“Why? Why come back?” Hunk’s question was a heavy one, and it was one that Keith didn’t really have all the answers to just yet. But he tried to answer the best he could.

“One reason is my brother,” Keith explained haltingly, trying to focus on his answer and driving at the same time. “I missed him. He’s my best friend. The other, I guess, would be school. And maybe I missed the USA, just a little bit. I don’t know.” He really didn’t. There was some kind of drive in him to be here that he couldn’t identify with a name just yet.

Hunk took his disorganized answer, nodding with it. “I attend the university here,“ Hunk supplemented. “It’s a really good school.” 

There was a lapse in conversation, then. A stretch of silence as Keith drew a blank on what to say next and Hunk had no reason to bring up anything else. Just the sound of the car’s AC and the tires on the road and the tinny sound of quiet music on the radio.

He thought this would be easy, and Hunk had said they were long overdue for a talk. So why couldn’t Keith think of anything he wanted to say? Why were his hands frozen onto the wheel, his gaze glued to the vehicle in front of him? He should be talking. Bringing up high school, bringing up anything. But Hunk was facing away from him, looking out of the car window, and Keith couldn’t force his mouth open. There was  _ nothing _ suddenly, nothing to say or do that would bridge the gap in between the driver’s seat and the passenger’s. They had done a lot of talking about Lance, and a lot of asking questions that almost had answers. But somehow Keith felt like they hadn’t  _ talked _ yet. About how he’d caused damage to more than just his ex-boyfriend. How he could start repair work. Hunk’s emotions were valid, too, and worth consideration. 

And Keith had thought this would be easy?

They were at a red light when Keith finally had the guts to choke up an apology. 

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” he said without moving, eyes glued in front of him. He heard, rather than saw, Hunk’s head turn towards him. Unsurely, he continued. “By leaving, by not telling you what was going on. I was a bad friend. The shittiest. And I’m sorry.”

Hunk was silent. Until he asked quietly, “Do you mean it?” 

“Of course I mean it,” Keith replied immediately. “God, Hunk, I thought about you all the time in Japan, I missed you. Your hugs, your sense of humor, your cat socks,  _ you. _ Of course I’m sorry for leaving you like that.” He waited for Hunk’s response, a little afraid to take his eyes from the road.

There was a sniff. Hunk said, “I missed you too.” His voice was watery.

“Hunk, please don’t cry,” Keith cringed. “You know I’m not good with--”

“It’s too late I’m already crying, tears are being shed, there’s water coming out of my eyes.”

“Great,” he muttered, not being able to stop a small smile. He had really missed Hunk. “There are tissues in the glove compartment, I think.” Hunk muttered a tearful thank you, opening the department with a small click and proceeding to rummage through Shiro’s stuff. There was a sound like a trumpet, and Keith could only assume it was Hunk blowing his nose.

“Are things good between us, Keith?” Hunk questioned next after a moment. He seemed  to have regained some composure.

“Only if you think so,” Keith responded carefully. After all, it was him who had made the mistakes. Hunk had been collateral damage and had every right to not want to start things over. He would let Hunk make the pace here. “I think it should be up to you.”   
  
“I want to keep being friends,” Hunk decided quickly. “I missed you too much to not at least try.”

They were the words that Keith didn’t know he’d been waiting to hear. A breath escaped him in relief.

"Then I think everything between us is good, Hunk,” he resolved. “A...a clean slate.”

Keith turned the blinker to turn into the one place he knew how to get to--his own apartment complex. He was glad. He was relieved. Hunk was a good person to have at his side, an even better man to have as a friend. And he was stable. Keith knew he could count on Hunk for advice when he went after harder, more difficult, more Lance-like targets. 

He parked the van more carefully this time, but picked a spot next to a motorcycle for the extra space (just in case).

(He also just really liked the bike and wanted to have an excuse to get near it. It had cool rhinestones on it).

Hunk got out of the car, looking at the building with familiarity. “Alright,” he said, like they were done. “Thanks for everything, bud. Oh, hey--you don’t need to walk me in. Unless you want to come in? That’s cool. We can do that.”

Keith locked the car. “What are you talking about?”

Hunk frowned. “Wait...I never gave you my address.”

“I live here,” Keith supplied.

Hunk’s eyes widened a margin. “You--? Live here?” He gestured to the building as if it weren’t obvious.

“Yes?”

Hunk brought a finger to massage a temple. “We live in the same building,” he realized. “Oh my god, we live in the  _ same building _ .”

Keith didn’t understand why it was such a big deal. It was a funny coincidence, sure, and certainly nice, but Hunk had an expression on his face. One a little distant and a little mischievous. It meant he was thinking. Scheming, to be more exact. The expression had not changed in three years. Keith remembered.

“Let’s go inside,” He suggested, twirling his keys on a finger. “We can talk more if you want.”   
  


“Okay,” Hunk agreed, still with those furrowed eyebrows and slight smile that meant nothing good. Keith didn’t know why it made him uneasy, but it did. He couldn’t help but feel like whatever Hunk was cooking up in his head, it involved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys liked it! and wow, season 6 am i right??? whew.
> 
> keith: *ages up two years*
> 
> me, looking between young keith and old keith: is this a homecoming reference
> 
> thank you for reading! please leave a comment if you enjoyed, i reply to and love them all!!!


	11. Play Again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday!!! lance mcclain!!!! love of my life!!!!!! i updated just for you!!!!!!!!!!!

 

**THREE YEARS AGO**

 

Lance walked into school early on Monday morning. He was in a pretty good mood, too. Traffic had been light, he’d gotten more than five hours of sleep. The sun was shining, the weather was pleasant (still warm with the summer sun, but touched by autumn wind). There weren’t many students milling about the building just yet, so Lance took his time getting to the cafeteria--where he usually met his friends before school. That morning there were girls hanging a banner above the cafeteria entrance, and Lance paused for a moment, trying to make out what it said.

 

It was an advertisement for the Homecoming Dance.

 

“Geez, already?” Lance mumbled to himself, coming forward. “Hey!” he shouted up to one of the girls on the ladder--Florona. She was on the Student Council. He knew her pretty well after having almost all of their sophomore year classes together. At his shout, she looked down at him, tucking a lock of red-orange hair behind her ear. 

 

“Oh, hey Lance,” she greeted with a smile, before looking back at  the poster. She held a staple gun firmly in her hand. “What’s up?”

 

“Is that really an ad for Homecoming?” he asked, shifting his hands from his hips to his sweatshirt pocket. “It seems a little early.”

 

“It’s a month and a half into the semester,” said a grumpier voice. The girl on the other side of the banner (also on a ladder), who was stapling vigorously. Ironically, she was wearing a cheerful yellow dress.  Her name was...he couldn’t remember. Something starting with _ S _ ? She continued to grumble, “It’s only a week until October.”

 

“Be nice,” Florona chided good-naturedly.

 

Lance skimmed the poster quickly, blanching. “Only in four  _ weeks? _ ” he exclaimed. 

 

“I know,” Florona sighed wistfully. “So far away.”

 

“Not far enough,” the girl in yellow said under her breath, and Lance couldn’t help but agree with her. Of course he was going--the theme looked cool, they were going for like an outer space vibe this year. He was  _ excited,  _ of course. But he hadn’t thought about a date or plans or anything and dances were something you planned for  _ ages  _ before. Like two whole months before. No doubt all of his friends already had dates and groups they were going with and there would be no room for him and he would be the odd one out like he always ended up being and--

 

“Hey, Lance,” Florona said. Lance looked up at her. “You look kind of tired,” she said with a pleasant smile. “Yeah, kinda tired. Don’t fall asleep in first hour, okay? Oh! And listen to the announcements today. My friend Luxia is doing them. Should be hilarious.” She chuckled to herself, turning back to her job, and Lance realized the conversation had ended.

 

“Have a nice morning,” he said, passing them and not even sure that the girls had heard. Quickly, he whipped out his phone.

 

**Me:**

Heyyyyyy buddy so i may or may not have just realized hoco is soon do you have plans already

 

He decided to text his other friends as well, ones that he maybe had a class or two with, or did drama with. School friends. None of them were really his best friends (That was reserved for Hunk), but he wouldn’t mind going with any of them. He just didn’t want to go alone. Lance found an empty table and slid his backpack from his shoulders to the ground, and seating himself in one of the plastic cafeteria chairs. His eyes were still a little crusty from sleep, and the unforgiving fluorescent light coming from the ceiling forced him to blink a few times. Then his phone was vibrating in his hands and he was looking at it with hope.

 

**Hunkleberry:**

Dude theyve been in the school news for the past week, dont you listen to the announcements?

 

**Me:**

I dont even do the pledge dude

 

**Hunkleberry:**

I knew there was a reason you were being so quiet about it!! but yeah to answer your question i got invited already

 

**Me:**

are you in a group of IB buds or smth

 

**Hunkleberry:**

No actually, shay asked me

 

**Me:**

WH

WHAR

LIKE SHY SHAY??? LIKE YOUR LAB PARTNER SHAY??

 

**Hunkleberry:**

Ya?

 

**Me:**

im actually sobbing oh my god congrats you ladykiller

 

**Hunkleberry:**

shes the one who asked me lance, i didnt do anything

 

Lance, was not in fact, actually sobbing. What he was actually doing was looking at his phone with a small smile that was both happy and a little strained. On the one hand, he’d been telling Hunk to pursue her for like actual months, but on the other hand...it was one less person he could go with to Homecoming. And if he was being honest, Hunk was the only one who he was sure would even text him back. His other friends were all too busy or didn’t check their phones or just weren’t interested enough in what Lance had to say. His smile turned more into a frown.

 

There was a thump next to him as someone sat next to him. Lance glanced up from his phone, but there was no face to look at. It was obscured by a tangled mess of hair and shielded from the harsh light of the cafeteria with two arms.

 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Lance said bemusedly. There was a very convincing zombie-esque noise in reply.

 

“Keith,” Lance reprimanded, shaking one of his friend’s tired shoulders. “What did I say about using your words?”   
  


“Fuck you,” Keith moaned tiredly.

 

“Better. But we’ll work on it.”

 

His quip earned another moan from Keith and an arm flopping towards him, attempting to sleepily attack him. Lance dodged it easily. “You have to see me to hit me, stupid,” he teased. “Open your eyes.” The sleepy hand turned into a sleepy fist and swung again, missing by a wide margin.

 

“I don’t care,” Keith groaned. 

 

“You don’t care about winning this brawl? How much sleep did you  _ get  _ last night, buddy?” Lance smiled wryly as he attempted to lift Keith into a sitting position. First period started in a little less than twenty minutes. He figured he would need every second to get Keith into a state of alertness fit for a chemistry lab.

 

“If you call that a fight, you really are pathetic,” his friend retorted, before yawning. He let Lance sit him up against the back of the chair, eyes still closed. Keith really did look too tired, and Lance had to wonder how much sleep he was getting. Keith had never been a morning person, but today (and the last few days, now that he thought about it) the fatigue had been worse.

 

“Wait a minute,” he told Keith, reaching down into his backpack, and pulling out a Starbucks cup from one of the netted side pockets. He handed it to Keith, forcing it into his hand.

 

“I don’t like coffee,” Keith insisted, with his eyes still closed.

 

“Not coffee.” Lance shot back. That caused Keith to peek an eye open. He looked down to the plastic cup in his hand with suspicion. 

 

“Then what is it?” he asked slowly. They looked at each other and Keith sighed. He knew Lance wasn’t gonna tell him. “You’re a jerk,” he told Lance, making sure he knew (which Lance did). 

 

“I bet you won’t drink it,” Lance challenged. It was a transparent attempt to get him to wake up, and they both knew it, but it was amazing how well the game of chicken worked. Lance watched eagerly as Keith brought the cup to his lips and took a brave swig, making a face. 

 

“Gross,” he said after swallowing, scrunching up his nose.

 

“Wh--it’s not gross!” Lance protested, taking the cup back. “It’s delicious. You must not have taste buds.”

 

“What  _ is _ it?”

 

“It got you to wake up, didn’t it?” That was true. Keith was sitting up now, both eyes wide open, still smacking his lips trying to get rid of whatever aftertaste the drink had left in his mouth. He still had a bedhead, and his clothes looked slept in. Keith fixed him with a look.

 

“Please just tell me,” he said. 

 

“Fine. It was Mountain Dew and Lemonade and caffiene-y Crystal Light, or something. I don’t know. My sister makes it for me.”

 

“Your  _ little  _ sister? The one who almost blew up your kitchen? _That_ sister?” Keith exclaimed, while making another face, clearly in displeasure. 

 

“Whatever,” Lance dismissed. “ _ I _ like it. But uh, hey man, did you like? Sleep? At all?” His voice peaked in concern, and he placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder, leaning forward. “No offense but you look awful.” Under his touch, Keith still got a little tense, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been when they had first met. Keith was still learning how Lance worked, just like how Lance was still figuring out Keith. 

 

“I got like three hours last night,” Keith confessed. “I stayed up late with...my brother. And then I had trouble falling asleep.” Lance tsked.

 

“You’re too stressed out,” he told him knowingly. “You need an outlet. That’s why you can’t sleep. Because all the stress is keeping your brain awake.” Playfully he went to tussle Keith’s hair.  “Trust me, man. That’s advice straight from my mom. You know she’s no joke.”

 

Keith swatted his hand away and Lance laughed, reaching forward again only to be shoved weakly back into his seat.

 

“I can’t just be  _ unstressed, _ ” Keith argued, tilt of a smile on his face and a shine in his eye. He was definitely awake now. “You’re not the one with awful grades.” Lance wished he had the will to combat that comment, to tell Keith that he was actually failing three classes, but he didn’t. It was embarrassing--and his grades were really none of Keith’s business anyway. If Keith wanted to assume Lance was a straight A student, that was his business.

 

“I’m just saying,” Lance said back. “You oughta have a day off.” Keith appeared to think for a second, before opening his mouth.

 

“Skip lunch period,” he told Lance.

 

“Huh?” 

 

Keith looked at him, a look in his eye that Lance couldn’t identify--he just knew it meant trouble. It always meant trouble. He’d seen the same look in his eyes when Keith h ad come to gym class in jeans and he had seen the same look when Keith was assigned to detention for sassing a teacher. Lance frowned, deeply suspicious. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

 

“But Laaance,” Keith half-sang, teasingly. He raised a hand threateningly to hit his friend again, and Keith laughed. Damn Keith and his stupid laugh.

 

“I’m not gonna skip lunch for some stupid reason! I have friends I sit with!” Lance insisted, crossing his arms.

 

“But the janitor’s office has a GameCube,” Keith tempted, pushing his tongue into his cheek. “And they have Mega Sword Fighter IV in the cartridge.” Oh, Lance knew the look he was getting now. It was the stupid cocky look Keith got when he thought that he’d won. The slight left tilt of his mouth, the way the lids of his eyes drooped a little. Lance was at the recieving end of it too much for his liking.

 

“No,” He persisted, weaker this time. And Keith knew it. He saw Lance’s resolve breaking at the promise of retro video games (one of his only weaknesses). With a positively evil look in his eye, Keith maneuvered so that his arm was slung around Lance’s shoulders. 

 

“But _Lance,”_ he tried again, making sure his friend’s neck fit comfortably in the crook of his elbow. “Aren’t we friends? And wasn’t this technically _your_ idea?”  
  
“You little shit,” He hissed, eyes squinting. “Don’t play the friend card on me. Guilt-tripping is playing dirty and you know it _._ ”

 

Keith sighed melodramatically. He put a hand on his forehead, leaning into Lance for effect. “I guess I’ll just have to suffer under all this stress then. Alone. Eating my lunch in the bathroom by myself. With no friends. Never sleeping. Grades slipping. And I’ll just keep getting worse and worse and worse--”

 

“Fuck, _ fine _ . You’re insufferable,” Lance told Keith, shoving him off before flicking him on the forehead. Keith looked way too pleased with himself. He looked like he was going to say something, but the warning bell rang from the PA system, cutting Keith off and causing the boys to look up from each other.

 

“Uh,” Keith uttered, finding a clock and squinting at the time. “Is Hunk sick or something? He’s usually here…like ten minutes ago?”

 

“He’s probably off with Shay,” Lance commented offhandedly, standing and grabbing his backpack. As he threw it over his shoulder he continued, “She asked him to Homecoming, so. I assume they’ll be spending a lot more time together.”

 

“Wait,” Keith said, standing as well. “Shy Shay? Like Hunk’s lab partner Shay?” Lance confirmed it with a nod, and Keith whistled slowly. He just shrugged, not really feeling like talking about it. He still hadn’t gotten any texts back about the dance. “So I’ll see you at lunch?”

 

“Yeah,” Keith agreed. They waved, said goodbye, and separated to go to their first hour classes.

 

________________________________

 

Lance looked skeptical when he approached Keith by where they had agreed to meet (by a vending machine).

 

“You look like a drug dealer just standing there,” Lance said by way of greeting, back hunched and hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, expression gloomy. Lance got like that sometimes. Keith had found out that the same boy who was overly excited about almost everything (aquariums and water and shark facts) could turn in an instant and be determined to dislike everything. He was in that sort of mood now, being sulky and shifty-eyed and making it clear that this was something he was being  _ forced _ to do. Even though Keith hadn’t forced him to do anything, and he was pretty sure Lance was secretly dying to find the game console in the janitor room anyway.

 

“Follow me,” he said, pushing off of the vending machine. Lance followed Keith with no hesitation, which only served to prove his theory further.

 

“So,” Lance said in between the squeaks of their shoes on the tile floor. “How do you know there’s really a Gamecube in the janitor’s room?”

 

“Because I’ve played it,” Keith returned smoothly, looking over his shoulder. He could tell from Lance’s face he’d been looking for a more in-depth answer. Keith sighed. “I’m friends with the janitor, Mr. Kolivan.” he said, biting the inside of his cheek. He could still remember coming to the custodial room every day during lunch to play videogames. He had been a freshman with no social skills and no friends. One day Mr. Kolivan had found him on the floor, using his backpack as a pillow and trying to sleep the lunch hour away. He had complimented Keith’s  _ Raging Death _ tee and a friendship had been born.

 

They reached the door to the office, and Keith pushed it open without bothering to knock. As expected, Kolivan was on duty, leaving the place empty. Lance stepped into the room like he was in some kind of government laboratory. He stared at everything like it was from an alien planet. Keith gestured towards the saggy gray couch that sat situated against a wall, opposite from a small TV. Lance plodded over to the couch and sat down, huffing while he did--but his expression didn’t match it. He sounded annoyed, but his eyes were starting to crinkle at the edges and his leg was bouncing with energy. Keith busied himself with setting up the game console, letting himself be player two because he knew Lance liked to be player one. He handed Lance a controller and settled next to him on the couch, trying to find his balance as he sank into the cushions. 

 

The pixelated logo of the game flashed onto the screen, the cheesy 8-bit music started up, and Keith finally got a peek at Lance’s smile.

 

“You weren’t kidding around,” Lance said, selecting his character from the menu. He picked a frog-like character adorned in a cloak. “I thought maybe you’d been joking.” Keith picked his too, the main character with hair and biceps bigger than his small, pixelated face. The screen went dark as the game loaded.

 

“Why would I do that?” Keith deadpanned, genuinely confused at why Lance would think that of him. The level started up, and they both leaned forward, starting to get into the game.

 

“I don’t know,” Lance commented absently, thumbs twitching above the mashable buttons. “Some of my friends do that. They say--” his arms moved with the controller to the side as he dodged something in game. “They say we’ll go get some ice cream, and then we’re at a party someone older than us is hosting. Or a girl will invite me over to study for a test, and we won’t end up studying at all.”

 

“Sounds more like lying than joking,” Keith said through gritted teeth as he attacked a monster on the screen. His voice was a tad sour, but he didn’t attempt to mask it. They both knew Keith didn’t like Lance’s friends. And Lance was pretty much friends with everyone, which explained why Keith had none. Hunk was nice, Matt was nice, Keith didn’t mind them. It was the others that he had issues with. Florona, Luxia, Rolo, all those guys. The ones who did bad things for no other reason than boredom. Keith had assumed Lance had been one of those people in the beginning, during summer school. Loud, chatty, annoying. All the girls laughing at his jokes, Lance making more so they’d laugh louder and stoke his ego even further.

 

He had been wrong about Lance, but he doubted he was wrong about all the fakes Lance hung around.

 

Lance let out a yelp. “One bar, one bar, one bar!” he chanted, in reference to his health bars. “Keith do you have--” Keith was already giving him a health boost, much to Lance’s relief. His shoulders drooped back down again, and he said, “What would I do without you?”

 

“I dunno,” Keith muttered. “Die, probably.”

 

Lance laughed and it was, quite possibly, the best sound that could’ve filled the air at that moment. Keith looked away from the game for a second, even though the level was transitioning into a boss fight, and was glad to see any trace of Lance’s hesitation gone. He looked happy. Which was good because Lance had seemed off, this morning. A little slower with his quips and little meaner with them too. It could have just been Keith's sleep-addled brain misinterpreting things, but....

 

He didn’t know if anything was wrong, but if there was, he hoped this had made him at least forget about it for a little while.

 

“Pay attention,” Lance scolded, when he noticed Keith’s attention was away from the game. “Or else we’re going to  _ lose _ to this guy!” He mashed down on the buttons like a madman, and Keith renewed his efforts to beat the minor boss they were challenging. Keith’s character delivered the final blow, and as the enemy pathetically withered into nothing, Lance whooped. 

 

“Alright!” he exclaimed, turning to Keith for a high-five. “That was so cool. I haven’t played this game in forever, I thought I’d lost my touch. Good job on that last hit.” 

 

A pop-up appeared on the screen, asking if they wanted to proceed to level two. Keith peered at the clock. Their lunch period was almost over.

 

“We should probably stop here,” he suggested, highlighting the  _ Save Game _ option on the screen. Lance also looked at the time and gave a pathetic-sounding whine in protest.

 

“We have a few minutes,” he whimpered. “C’mon, Keith!”

 

“I thought you didn’t even want to be here,” Keith reminded him teasingly. “I thought I guilt-tripped you into this?”

 

“You did!” Lance agreed. “But I also don’t want to go back to my lunch table. I’m kind of beefing with them right now.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. Lance was never really beefing with his friends. They’d just done something that mildly gotten on his nerves, and they always made up the day after. Still, Keith asked. “What happened?”   
  
“Well, nothing  _ actually  _ happened,” Lance explained. Keith bent down to disconnect their controllers from the console and put everything back where it had been. “It’s more of like what hasn’t happened I’m kind of upset about. I talked to my friends and they’ve all got Homecoming plans already!”

 

Keith laughed. “Homecoming is stupid,” he said, looking back at Lance. “I don’t know why you care so much. It’s just a dance.”

 

Lance blanched. “Just a dance? Keith, it’s the first major social event of the year. The whole school goes. I have to be there!”   
  
“No you don’t,” he countered, settling back onto the couch next to Lance, who had his lanky arm slung casually across the back. “ _ I’m _ not going.”

 

“Yeah,” Lance said, scrunching up his nose. “But that’s just you, Keith. You’re like super emo, and everyone knows emos don’t go to school functions.” Keith grabbed a couch pillow and hit him in the face with it. It made a satisfying  _ whump _ as it made contact and Keith saw Lance’s legs jump up in surprise.

 

“You don’t need to go with someone to go to Homecoming,” he said pointedly. “If everyone has plans just go and have fun by yourself.” Lance wrestled the pillow from Keith and put it on his end of the couch, using it as a back cushion as he swung his long legs onto the cushion between them. Keith followed suit and then they were facing each other, legs tangled together.

 

“I’m not you,” Lance said quieter, crossing his arms across his chest. “I care about what others think.”

 

“I only care about what the people that _ matter _ think,” Keith corrected. “Not about strangers. Try it.”

 

“I can’t,” Lance was quick to reply. “These are peers. They’re people that know who I am. I have to show up with  _ someone.” _ He pouted, looking to the side. “If I go alone it will destroy my playboy image.”

 

“Playboy,” Keith repeated, holding in a laugh. “Okay.”

 

“Shut up and just agree with me,” Lance whined.

 

“I didn’t disagree!”

 

Lance narrowed his eyes. “I could tell you were thinking about it.” Keith smiled then and something changed in Lance’s face and he looked away from Keith to the clock. 

 

“One minute ‘til the bell,” Lance announced. Keith studied Lance’s profile, wondering in the back of his mind how someone wouldn’t want to go to a dance with a boy like that. Lance sighed, closing his eyes for a second. “Guess we should head back.”

 

“Guess so.”

 

They untangled their legs and helped each other escape from the quicksand cushions of the couch. 

 

“Can we do this again?” Lance asked as Keith closed the door. “It was really nice.”

 

“Yeah,” He agreed. “Maybe next time I can actually introduce you to Kolivan. He’s a riot.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love this chapter I think its really cute!!! thank you for reading, leave a comment, let me know what you're thinking or just say hi! i love getting feedback and validation


	12. 3 A.M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some unexpected things happen in this chapter (but in like a really interesting plot-thickening way) hhhhhhhhhh i hope you liiiiiike itttt

**PRESENT DAY**

 

Keith was awoken by a noise in the middle of the night.

 

It took him a second to realize he wasn’t sleeping anymore. It took him a moment to be awake enough to have coherent thoughts. There was a garbled noise coming from outside his door. It took him a moment to discern that, too. Too him, it sounded like human voices--but it was changing every few seconds. It attacked his ears and his sleep-scrambled brain was having trouble figuring out exactly what was audibly assaulting him. It wasn’t loud enough to be Mara or Hank--and he wasn’t in high school anymore, he was an adult. Keith couldn’t make out the words. Rubbing an eye, he peeled the blankets off of him, shivered at the sudden change in temperature, and pushed himself up from his pillow. He peered at his door, but nothing gave away what the disturbance was besides the faint light seeping in from the crack between his door and the floor.

 

“Ughghhmm,” he moaned, slapping a hand onto his face and dragging it into his hair. He was going to have to get up, wasn’t he?

_________________________________________

 

Lance was awoken by a noise in the middle of the night.

 

It was loud and repetitive and it  _ wouldn’t stop _ even though Lance was trying his best to pretend it didn't exist. He had already slapped his hand on his alarm clock, thinking it first to be that, but no. It wasn’t morning, and this sound was much deeper and farther-away-sounding. Like,  _ outside of his room _ sounding.

 

He was not excited about getting up, even if it was only to stop the noise from pounding a permanent presence in his head. Smacking his lips, he wrapped his blanket around him, really caring less about how stupid he looked, and bravely made his way out of his room. His apartment was pitch black, and he ran into a wall more times than he would’ve liked to say. With each step, however, his head cleared a bit more. And he finally identified the noise--as knocking. It echoed through his apartment and reverberated through his thin walls with an admirable effort, and showed no signs of stopping unless he addressed whoever the culprit was and what they wanted.

 

“I swear to Jesus,” Lance muttered, twisting the cold knob. “Who the fuck--” He opened the  door and saw who had been knocking so insistently. “Oh,” he uttered in surprise, suddenly sheepish. “...Hey.”

_________________________________________

 

Keith tread down the hallway slowly, one hand tracing the wall, the other rubbing his eyes hard enough to see stars.

 

He’d been fairly sure that the lights had all been off when he’d fallen asleep. There was only one other person in the apartment.

 

“Shiro,” Keith called, his voice rugged from sleep. "Shiro, what are you doing?”

 

He entered the living room to see the television on some old black and white movie, and Shiro perched in his work chair, knees pulled up, faced toward his computer screen. He looked like he was trying to work on his essay. Keith padded closer. This wasn’t something new to him, but it had been a while since he had ran into his brother shirking sleep.

 

“Shiro,” he repeated, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. It caused the older man to startle, and look back.

 

“Geez,” Shiro breathed, with a slight ghost of a smile. “You scared me, Keith.”

 

“I said your name three times,” Keith said pointedly, while stifling a yawn. Keith could see that Shiro’s phone was on his desk as well. Screens were everywhere. He remembered it was one of the strategies Shiro used to keep his brain awake. “Do you know what time it is?” he asked, while reaching for the TV remote.

 

“Your hair is a mess,” Shiro commented dryly, with a small chuckle. Keith pointed the remote to the TV and turned it off. “But yes, I do.”

 

“You should sleep,” Keith suggested. “You don’t look so good.” He was right. The tuft of light hair sat on Shiro’s hairline like a bird nest, and the glasses he wore did nothing to disguise the lines under his eyes. His broad shoulders were slumped with exhaustion.

 

“I would like to,” his brother said, finishing the turn towards his computer. He made a few more clicks before saying, “I have work to do, Keith.”

 

“C’mon, man. Don’t do this.” He argued on instinct. Shiro sighed, and his hand came up to the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. The gesture was familiar. For Keith, the gesture was associated with finding his brother awake at night, either half asleep or in a state of obsessiveness. He was always studying, or working on schoolwork, or something else important. He wasn’t disappointed to find that the habit hadn’t disappeared. More like he was just..kind of sad that it hadn’t. 

 

His time away had clearly not fixed everything.

 

Years ago, when Keith had found Shiro like this, he used to sit with him under a blanket they would both share. They would either be in Shiro’s bed, or in the basement. It alternated, depending on the night.  He would sit next to his brother and say nothing, just lean against his shoulder until Shiro caught his sleepiness like a disease and finally closed his laptop. Then they would sleep. Some nights it was easy, and Shiro gave in without a fight. Other nights he would tell Keith to go away (but he never did) and they would stay up for hours together out of stubbornness. A few times, the sleep never came. And Keith would drag himself to school looking like hell and Lance would make fun of him for it because he didn’t know any better. 

 

_ (“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he would quip, chuckling when Keith would look at him with bleary eyes.) _

 

“Can we just,” Keith started. “Can we just--unplug? All this is just keeping you up.”

 

“I know,” Shiro agreed with a humorless smile.

_________________________________________

 

Lance was not used to receiving guests at this time in the morning. But, if he were, he supposed Nyma was not the most unexpected person to come call. She stood outside his door, with an unlit cigarette in her mouth and a loose crop top slung across her chest in a way that was very Nyma. She looked great, even if she had been crying.

 

“Lance,” she said thickly, “Can I come in? I’m sorry.”

 

He let her in without a word, watching her back as she passed him. His house was dark, and the only light came from the moon outside. Shining in through the living room window, it tainted everything blue. Nyma’s hair, swinging in a ponytail, was a pale shade of sky. He was surprised that she didn’t show any sign of being chilled by the autumn night air. She pulled at the straps of her sandals before stepping onto his carpet barefoot.

 

“What’s going on?” Lance finally asked seriously. He was more awake than he had been a minute ago, as the notion that something bad could’ve happened had dawned on him6. “Are you okay?” He touched her bicep gently as her arms crossed over her chest. The heel of her hand came up to wipe away the wetness on her cheeks.

 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t know where else to go. Rolo and I--there was a fight--it’s over.” Her voice was strong despite sounding choked. It didn’t quaver, which told Lance she was probably going to be alright.

 

“Over?”

 

“ _ Over.” _

 

Lance swallowed. “Nyma, I thought you and Rolo weren’t serious.”

 

She huffed. “Well, I’m serious when I say I’m fed up with him. Him and his stupid-- _ ugh _ . Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. I’m just...I need to be away from him for a while.”

 

Lance let out a slow breath as his brain started to connect things. “You need a place to stay,” he guessed, remembering that she and Rolo lived together. Lance also knew that Nyma hated asking for things like this directly. She wasn’t one to ask for charity. His eyes narrowed. 

 

“You want to crash here, don’t you?” The hitch in her shoulders gave her away. He had assumed correctly. Lance blinked, thinking about it briefly. 

 

“You can stay,” he decided. He probably should have spent longer thinking about it, but it was two in the morning, and he was tired, and it was Nyma. He was sure everything would be fine, and even if it wouldn’t, he couldn’t find it within him at the moment to care. “Just until you can make up with Rolo. Let things cool down.”

 

Nyma grabbed at Lance’s hand, lacing their fingers together. In the dim light he could see her looking down at their palms. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he wished he could. Maybe there would be answers in them.

 

“Thank you,” she breathed. “God, I’m really sorry to put you through the wringer like this.”

 

“Don’t be,” Lance said back softly, lifting his other arm to help her into a hug. “It’s not a problem. I’ll make up the couch for you.”

 

_________________________________________

 

Keith saw getting Shiro away from the computer monitor as a success. Even if the alternative was walking around the apartment complex aimlessly, at least they were talking. Which was new. Back then, he and Keith had never talked.

 

Keith liked the change. It was...really nice. Sure, they may have looked weird, roaming around at night in their pajamas, but he didn’t care. He was sure the tired but sincere smile coming from Shiro was worth it.

 

“...So that’s the project,” his brother finished explaining. “It’s been a time. Especially when it’s meant to be a group project and you’re the whole group.”

 

“Sounds like you need new partners,” Keith replied. Shiro nodded.

 

“So it’s been keeping me up because of that. It’s a big part of our grade, you know. And the others really aren’t doing anything.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Stupid,” he muttered.

 

“Stupid,” Shiro confirmed. They stopped at the door to a stairway, and Shiro opened it. The pair entered, carrying on their conversation as they climbed up the stairs. “There’s just so much to do,” Shiro continued, nudging his glasses up his nose. “I need an extra hour in the day.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Keith remembered, snapping his fingers as he was reminded of something. “What was the deal with the errands I ran earlier today? Did you make whatever it was you were going to make?”

 

Shiro’s hand glided over the safety rail as they turned to climb up another story. “I’m making a cake,” he informed Keith. “For a new neighbor. As a welcoming thing, I guess. I feel like it’s my duty as a neighbor. Plus--”

 

“It’s Hunk’s new roommate, right?” Keith interrupted. 

 

Shiro paused, looking at his brother. “Hunk?” he repeated.

 

“Your neighbor,” Keith supplied. “He lives a floor down?”

 

“I don’t know him. How do you?”

 

Keith itched his nose. “An old friend,” he admitted. “Ran into him earlier...he mentioned his roommate to me in passing.” Shiro smiled, edge of a laugh in his grin. 

 

“You’ve been socializing?” he said, like it was unbelievable. “All by yourself?” Keith scowled, nudging his brother.

 

“It doesn’t get funnier each time you make a joke about it,” Keith told him. Shiro’s smile grew.

 

“Not to you,” he retorted playfully.

 

 “You’re a child.”

 

The only response was Shiro letting out a giggle. It echoed in the stairway and did little to contradict Keith’s statement. They reached the top of the stair, and paused for a moment when they both realized that they could go no higher. The only way forward was a door labeled  _ ROOF ACCESS. _

 

Shiro looked at Keith.

 

Keith looked at Shiro.

 

Shiro went ahead and opened the door.

_________________________________________

 

“So, you know where the bathrooms are, right?” Lance clarified, handing over the pillow and blanket that he had in his arms. “And you don’t need the lights on?”

 

Nyma took the bed makings with an amused expression. “I’ve slept over before,” she reminded him. “I know the layout of the land, Lance.” He pouted, crossing his arms. Nyma’s laugh was quiet and husky. “Honestly, the most unfamiliar part of this setup is the fact that you’re banishing me to the couch.”

 

Lance blanched, remembering that he and Nyma did have a habit of falling asleep when they would watch Netflix on his bed in the late hours of the night.

 

“You can have the bed if you want--”

 

“It’s fine. I think I’ll manage somehow.”

 

She set the comforter down on the couch, and Lance set about helping her smooth it over the couch and making it into something like a real bed. 

 

Nyma plopped herself down on the couch, already comfortable. She patted the space beside her on the couch cushion. “Sit.”

 

Lance gratefully let himself fall next to her.

 

Nyma looked at him as she tucked her knees in between them. Earlier they had turned on the lights and the artificial light made her complexion a yellow-y gold. It matched her hair. Lance looked at her, too. Her eyes weren’t pink from recent tears anymore, her makeup had been wiped bare with a wet towel in his bathroom. She looked better, on the surface. 

 

“Nyma?” Lance asked, knowing from his own reflection that  _ you should never take things as they are on the surface _ . Taking a cue from her earlier, he found her hand. “You’re okay, right? We’ll get through this just fine?”

 

Nyma’s lips curved upwards. “I like how you said  _ we _ ,” she murmured.

 

Lance’s hand twitched, and he was sure she felt it. “Y-you do?” he replied.

 

“I do,” she softly confirmed. There was a jump in Lance’s pulse.

_________________________________________

 

Moonlight spilled over Keith, tinting everything blue. The night was chilly, but he ignored the protests coming from his bare feet as he walked forward, following his brother’s lead.

 

The rooftop itself was next to bare, save for the occasional air-conditioning unit. But Shiro walked right over to the edge of the roof, to peer over. Keith padded after him. Below them cars moved in lines between streetlights and birds swooped in between buildings. Keith settled in to the right of his brother, and they looked out together.

 

“I’ve never been up here,” Shiro said quietly.

 

“Me neither,” agreed Keith. Shiro gave him a wry look and it took Keith a moment to realize that  _ of course he hadn’t. _ “It’s a pretty view,” he said to change the topic, looking away from Shiro (because his brother was hiding a laugh) and out to the city.

 

“Yeah,” agreed Shiro. “It’s alright. Hey, look. You can see the university from here.” He pointed a finger out into the sea of city lights. “That tower you can see? It’s a bell tower for the campus.” Keith saw it, and nodded slowly. It occurred to him that he’d be going there soon, just as soon as the new semester started. He had a few months, but it was creeping up.

 

“Hey, I never finished telling you,” Shiro said suddenly, looking from the cityscape down to Keith. “About the cake.”

 

Keith swiped the bangs from his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Who’s it for?”

 

Shiro grazed his thumb over his bottom lip. “I don’t know a name. But it’s Coran’s niece.”

 

That didn’t mean anything to Keith, save for the part about Coran. He imagined the niece of Coran would be as whimsical and entertaining as her uncle. “Cool,” he said. “I’ll come with, if you want. Since I guess we’ll be seeing her around the bar. Might as well introduce myself.”

 

“Look at you, being social.” Shiro nudged Keith, Keith nudged him back, a little harder, knocking a grin on to his brother’s face. “Hey, Keith?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“I think I’m ready to head to bed.”

_________________________________________

 

Lance probably should’ve gone back to bed. He didn’t even have to sleep, just go back to his bed, period. But no, here he was. On the couch. Staying up with Nyma because he had somehow convinced himself that it would be rude not to. She had changed into pajamas. And by pajamas, Nyma meant she was wearing her crop top and old plaid boxers she had stolen from Lance’s drawer.

 

“These are clean, right?” she had asked before scurrying into his bathroom to change. Apparently, she hadn’t brought anything with her except for her Marlboros.

 

Now Lance was on the couch, Nyma’s head propped on his shoulder as she scrolled through her phone, and he was wondering why he he wasn’t in his bed. Why one part of his brain was telling him to back out and another was demanding that he stay. Half of him was remembering how warm her hand was, and the other half was thinking about anything but that.

 

His head hurt from it all. 

 

After a few more moments of watching the light outside his apartment flicker through the window, and feeling the rhythm of Nyma breathing against his body, he grew tired of it.

 

Gently he nudged her. “Hey,” he said quietly.

 

“Hm?” Her eyes peeked up from her screen.

 

“We aren’t usually this...cuddly,” he observed.

 

“No,” Nyma agreed. Her voice was point-blank. “Only when we’re both single.”

 

Lance sighed softly, craning his neck back to look at the ceiling. Now that she had said it, Lance could see the truth. “And that was….” he trailed off.

 

“About a month ago,” Nyma finished. “Right before Rolo and I were officially casually a thing. And I think you had just broken up with that girl...Jenny?” Her thumb had resumed its infinite scrolling on her phone. Nyma’s face tipped down every few seconds so she could glance at it, he felt her move against his shoulder. “I remember you showed up at my place and we put on a bad movie. We kissed that night,” she mentioned. “That was fun.”

 

Lance’s eyes closed for a moment. “Do you want to….” he let it out slowly and let it end openly, willing Nyma to fill it with whatever she wanted. 

 

“You know I like you, Lance,” Nyma filled in, tilting her head up to him. “I have for a long time.”

 

“So you want to.” His eyelids cracked open and his gaze made it over to where she was leaned against him. He could see her biting her lip from here. 

 

“Yes,” she answered, after a second of silence. “Is it...a yes from you?”

 

“If you want it to be.”

 

“Fuck, then yeah,” Nyma uttered, slightly louder. She sat up to look at him. Her eyes were tired, but she smiled at him with newfound energy. “You’re cool with that, even though you broke up with your last girlfriend like two days ago?”

 

Lance huffed. “You broke up with Rolo  _ today.” _

 

“Fair point,” Nyma said back, sliding back into her original position. “I guess we’re both good at bouncing back, huh?”

 

Lance didn’t bother telling her how wrong she was. He figured she was smart enough to figure it out herself. He was tired of talking, anyway. Tired, period. Of change, of surprises, of things coming back from the dead. He wanted familiarity. He wanted to feel safe. So when Nyma put her hand on his cheek and guided him towards her mouth, he welcomed it. He  _ deepened  _ it. He hoped that somehow, it would help him feel less uncertain. Less afraid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhehehehehe,,,,heheh....yeah
> 
> leave a comment, cry, yell at me, whatever!!! i love hearing from you guys. ALSO. with school and extracurriculars starting my schedule will get HELLISHLY busy. but i will try my absolute hardest to update at the LEAST once a month. thank you for understanding. Love you guys! ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BETA READER JULIA WHOMST I LOVE WITH MY WHOLE ENTIRE HEART WHERE WOULD I BE WITHOUT YOU
> 
> kick lol
> 
> (also im just now adding the the nyma/lance tag dont mind me i forgot to haha)


	13. Rain and A Little Something Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i really like this chapter too OOPS
> 
> Also....hunk and shay....maybe i'll shed a tear....

**THREE YEARS AGO**

 

**Hunkleberry:**

Heyyy so do you want to hang out after school

 

**Hunkleberry:**

Shay and i want to study and i thought we would invite you too since we think we’ll stop by martys

 

**Me:**

“””study”””

 

**Me:**

Absolutely not

 

**Hunkleberry:**

But bro

 

**Hunkleberry:**

You love martys

 

**Me:**

doesnt mean i want to be sandwiched in between you two on your poorly disguised date. More like martyrs am i right

 

**Hunkleberry:**

Ok that was clever i admit but youll come bc you love me!! And shay!!

 

**Me:**

Shay could deadlift my bony ass but i would rather have her throw me than come no offense

 

**Hunkleberry:**

Omg she COULD lift you omg

 

**Me:**

do you find that hot hunk

 

**Hunkleberry:**

yes 

 

**Me:**

valid 

 

**Hunkleberry:**

come with us!!

 

**Me:**

noooooOO

 

**Hunkleberry:**

Well...i just talked to keith...and he said that he would be there..

 

**Me:**

oh 

 

**Me:**

Sure then i guess i can tag along.

 

**Hunkleberry:**

aHA!!!!

 

**Me:**

??what??

 

**Hunkleberry:**

VERY interesting, lance....

 

 **Me** :

oh my god.

 

**Me:**

You’re the devil and i hate you.

 

**Hunkleberry:**

How has keith instigated such a dramatic change of mind?

 

**Me:**

Its LiTeRAllY bEcAuSE i dont want him to be alone with you two!!

 

**Hunkleberry:**

I think you’re whipped

 

**Me:**

I think YOU’RE whipped

 

**Hunkleberry:**

At least i admit it bro

 

**Me:**

literally fuck you

 

**Hunkleberry:**

So i’ll see you later today at Marty’s?

 

**Me:**

*martyrs

 

**Me:**

god hunk you really ARE whipped for her if you’re taking her there. disgusting.

 

**Hunkleberry:**

I’ll see you AND KEITH at 5 then :)

 

**Hunkleberry:**

Also u cant fool me, i know you think me and shay are cute

 

**Me:**

Yeah sure ok                             

 

Lance scrolled through the text conversation one last time, sighing into his hand. He still couldn’t believe he was going to  _ Marty’s _ for a  _ study date. _ One of the most cliche moves in the book. Hunk was really trying to outdo himself in the romance department. He would be shocked if his best friend didn’t show up with a corsage to put on Shay’s wrist. He was glad Keith was coming too, at least now he wouldn’t suffer alone.

 

Lance peered up towards the back of his door, where a full length mirror hung. He leaned forward, brushing his hair back from his forehead and examining himself. He had spent a little long on his outfit, he had to admit. But he thought he looked nice. Skinny jeans that hugged his calves nicely, a blue sweater. He had gotten the top from a garage sale a year ago. It said  _ GOLF _ all over it but it was cute and unique and even though he didn’t really get it he thought it was cute.

 

“Who are you dressed up for?” came the nasally voice of his brother behind him. Lance whipped around to glare.

 

“None of your  _ business _ , Marco,” he hissed. “Also, get out of my bed.” He strode over to where his brother was lounged and grabbed him by the shirt collar, dragging him off. He ignored his brother’s protests of “Ow! OW! Hey, I’m older than you! Ow! Stop it!”

 

“Sit on your own bed,” he told him, gesturing up to the top bunk.

 

His brother smiled, teeth glinting. “But Lance, your bed is softer--”

 

“Because I  _ wash _ my  _ sheets, _ you pig.”

 

Marco wrinkled his nose, as he realized that Lance had a point. Marco, only being a year older than Lance, had been his designated roommate for most of his life. It was very unfortunate, because Marco was also extremely annoying. Lance watched as his brother climbed up to his designated bed. “Are you meeting a boy?” Marco inquired.

 

Lance scowled, looking back at his reflection. Was that a pimple forming on his chin? He leaned in further and touched his face unsurely.

 

“It  _ is _ a boy!” Marco hooted, thumping his hand against the woodwork of his bed. “Our little Romeo! Or would your  _ crush _ be Romeo?”

 

“Shut up,” Lance whined, turning around. “I’m  _ literally _ just going to meet some friends, dude.”

 

“You don’t wear that outfit when you go see your friends,” Marco scoffed. “You don’t even wear that outfit when you meet girls. You wear your ‘sexy pants’ when you do that.”

 

Lance resisted the urge to smother his brother with a pillow. He didn’t have ‘sexy pants’. They were just a tight pair of jeans that he thought made his butt look good. “You’re the worst,” he complained, crossing his arms. “Ever since I came out to this family you all act like getting dick is all I do! I’ve never even properly  _ liked  _ a dude. I hate you and also I’m leaving so goodbye and I love you.”

 

Marco paused his mockery to repeat it back as Lance grabbed his phone and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

 

“Mom!” he hollered as he thundered down the stairs, unsure of where she was in the house. “I’m taking the car! Be back later!” His hand grazed the wall as he jumped over the last three steps. His plan was simple--grab the keys on his way out of the house and take the car before his mother realized he’d never told her where he was going or when he’d be back. He had his phone on him. He would be _ fine. _

 

Just as his fingers were closing over the keys, though, he heard the shrill of his mother’s voice. 

 

_ “Lance!”  _ she called from somewhere in the house. “Tell me where you’re off to!”

 

He rolled his eyes. “I’m studying with Hunk!” he yelled, even though he was sure it was a cover story to disguise the fact that Hunk wanted to take Shay out. Lance and Keith were fluff to the story, to make it seem less suspicious to Mr. and Mrs. Garrett.

 

“Be back by nine!” his mother shouted. “On the dot!”

 

“Okay, mamá!” He grabbed the keys from their hanger and headed to the door that led to the garage. 

 

“Lance!” 

 

He stopped with his hand on the door handle, groaning. “Yes?”

 

“I love you!”

 

“I love you too! Bye!”

 

The car started with a cough, but it breathed better the further Lance drove it. He was supposed to meet everyone as Marty’s. If he was right, Hunk and Shay would come together. Maybe they would bring Keith too, Lance didn’t know. All he knew was that Keith would supposedly be there. Lance had tried texting him earlier but had failed to wean out a reply. Radio silence.

 

Marty’s was the source of a longstanding joke between the students of Lance’s high school. Nothing against the restaurant, if anything it was popular among his peers. It was just the nature of the popularity that gained attention.

 

People went to Marty’s if they were going on dates. 

 

The place was small, locally-owned, and had been for a long time. It had a classic Americana, diner-type theme, checkered floor and all. A jukebox in the corner. It was the type of place where you knew the waitresses by name and in return they knew your preferred malt flavor, sometimes giving a discount on pie if it had been a good day.

 

Lance knew Darcy, Carly, and Jenny. In return, he got discounted chocolate shakes while they were on duty. He hoped they were today.

 

As he walked in, a bell jingled, and the familiar sound of jazzy music caressed his ears. A cursory look around the space informed him he was the first one of their ensemble to arrive. He wiped his shoes on the rug before coming over to the bar, propping himself up on a revolving stool.

 

“Hey Lance,” said a girl coming from the back. Her hoop earrings gave her away as Jenny Shaybon. She came towards him from behind the counter, flipping her notebook out and clicking her pen. “How’re you?”

 

“Good,” he answered, bringing out his wallet. “Just a shake, please.” Jenny smiled, nodded.

 

“How’re the roads?” she asked conversationally, while putting the order in the diner’s computer. “Driving was okay?”

 

“Yep,” Lance confirmed. “The rain isn’t bad today. It’s nice, actually.”

 

Jenny sent him another friendly smile and headed back into the kitchen to make his milkshake. There was another jingle by the door, and Lance was greeted with a gust of rainy air from the outside. Craning his neck, he looked back at who had come in. His face split into a shy grin as he saw who it was.

 

Keith had plodded in, hair slightly damp from the rain. His ruddy Vans squeaked on the tile and his face was pink. If Lance had been able to look away from him he would have seen Keith’s bike outside the diner, chained to the rack. But he was too busy noticing how he could see Keith’s scuffed knees in the holes of his jeans and how his friend’s fingers poked out from a hunter green jacket that had sleeves a little too long. The hood of it puffed up behind his dark hair and the orange strips on his sleeves glistened brightly with fresh raindrops.

 

Lance was glad that he had spent time on his own appearance.

 

“Hey,” Keith said, raising a hand to wave. Lance wordlessly waved back. Keith took the stool to Lance’s left, rotating it with his hips subconsciously. “Hunk’s not here yet?” Keith asked, digging out his cellphone for the time. Lance peered over too, and saw it was just past five. He also noticed that the screen was cracked, and he had sworn that it hadn’t been a few days ago.

 

“He’ll be here soon,” Lance guessed. “Hunk’s usually punctual.” Jenny came back out and slid Lance’s malt over the counter to him. He gave her a five dollar bill in exchange. The shake was swirling with milky cream and chocolate and felt chilly against his fingers. He licked his lips in anticipation.

 

“I like this song,” Keith murmured absently, tapping his fingers on the edge of the counter. It was some kind of mellow swing song that Lance had tuned out a few minutes ago. The singer was singing something about a blue moon. It felt oddly appropriate for a rainy day. Lance slurped on his shake contemplatively, staring out the window towards the gray skies. The clouds swirled around each other lazily, like the chocolate and cream in the milkshake he was drinking. Keith nudged his elbow. “How’s your shake?” he asked. Lance glanced at him, then down at his straw. Slowly, he pushed the drink over to Keith.

 

“Have a sip,” he recommended. Gladly, Keith took the straw into his mouth and tasted it. His brow furrowed downward as he did, completely concentrated on the flavor. His cheeks puffed out slightly when his mouth was full, and Lance caught himself instinctively thinking,  _ cute. _

 

Keith’s eyes slid over to him, Lance had to admit that his cheeks did color a bit.

 

He blamed Marco for planting ideas in his head.

 

“You know,” he blurted out, turning from Keith in a hurry to talk about something (anything, if it would distract him from prolonged eye contact, holy shit). “Hunk should reeeeeally have been here by now. My mom would kill me if I was late to anything. I actually have a curfew. Nine PM tonight. Ugh, she yelled at me about it today.” He chuckled awkwardly, but soon fell silent when he felt Keith grow still beside him. 

 

“Your mom yells at you?” Keith asked quietly. Lance felt like Keith had whispered it directly into his ear, and was confused why his friend would focus on that detail, when it wasn’t even the subject of the conversation. Lance opened his mouth to voice a question, but the jingle of the door beat him to it. Lance turned to examine who had interrupted him and Keith pushed his beverage back over to him.

 

Hunk, a.k.a Lance’s Personal Lucifer, strolled in with Shay holding onto his elbow. They were engrossed in some kind of light conversation, Lance could hear Shay’s cute giggles from where he was perched, the swish of her skirt that popped a bright dandelion yellow against her black leggings. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was also wearing a t-shirt version of Van Gogh’s  _ Starry Night _ . Without hesitation, Lance cupped his hands around his mouth as an amplifier and yelled.

 

“Well, you two certainly took your time!”

 

Shay, bangled earrings shaking as she laughed, waved to Lance. Hunk gave him a smile just as sweet. “Sorry,” he apologized as they grew closer. “Do you guys want to get a booth?”

 

Keith turned to Lance, and Lance found himself doing the same without thinking. Keith’s eyes pleaded,  _ please, I don’t want to be forced to sit and listen to their sappy professions of love,  _ and Lance couldn’t agree more.

 

“I think we’re okay, buddy,” he answered, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “But if you and Shay want get a table without us, go ahead.” Hunk rolled back his shoulders with an relieved expression. Lance didn’t want to waste any time. He had clearly had a role in Hunk’s plan, even if Hunk wouldn’t admit it. And he would gladly serve that role, as a wingman. But Lance didn’t want to have to sit here for the whole two hour long conversation the two were bound to have over the pros and cons of modulating programs. No, Lance believed in being efficient. He would do Hunk a service and get them alone as soon as humanly possible. 

 

Hunk’s hand crept up to cover Shay’s fingers on his elbow. He looked over at Shay. Shay looked over at Hunk. They stared at each other dreamily and Lance was pretty sure he could see drool emitting from his best friend’s face.

 

Keith nudged him in the side. “Is this allowed?” he whisper-yelled.

 

“It’s like their having eye-sex right in front of us.” Lance muttered back, scrunching up his nose.

 

“Disgusting,” Keith agreed, with a tiny smirk of amusement. Jenny came around to ask them their orders and escort the duo to their table for two. 

 

“I think our role is done here,” Lance said, clapping his hands together once before leaning over his drink to lick at chocolate sitting on the brim of his glass.

 

“Role?” asked Keith.

 

“As wingmen,” Lance clarified, swallowing. “We were invited to make their date seem like less of a date.”

 

“But it’s  _ so _ clearly a date,” Keith protested. “We aren’t exactly doing anything to disprove that.” It made Lance chuckle.

 

“That, we are not. Hey, this shake is almost gone. You wanna split? Go somewhere else?” Lance slurped on his drink, and he could practically hear the bottom of the glass.

 

Keith took a look at him, mouth skewed into a frown. “That seems rude,” he said. “Are you sure Hunk wouldn’t mind?” Keith’s gaze goes behind Lance to stare at the couple and Lance follows him. Hunk and Shay are chatting quietly and happily, Hunk, animatedly pointing at items on the menu. Lance’s shoulders droop and a fond smile finds his mouth. Hunk had a big boxy grin on his face, one that Lance loved dearly. He knew it was the smile Hunk only used when he was really, really happy. And when Lance looks at Shay, it’s like she’s Hunk’s reflection.

 

So softly, he replied to Keith. “They’ll be okay.”

 

He and Keith got up from their stools and quietly stepped outside the restaurant. It was still raining outside, and Lance thought that the weather had actually gotten heavier. He smiled a bit underneath the small dry spot of cover the restaurant provided for them. Sticking one palm out, he reveled in how quickly the sky drenched his skin.

 

“Hey,” Keith nudged Lance’s arm beside him. “You don’t have a raincoat?”

 

Lance shook his head. “Nah,” he replied. “I don’t need one.” 

 

Keith raised his eyebrows, and Lance took the invitation to continue. “I just like being wet from the rain, it feels nice.”

 

“Until you’re soggy and freezing,” Keith protested, pouting. “Having long hair makes it even worse. It gets in my eyes and it gets stuck to my neck.” Lance could see him visibly shudder as Keith remembered the sensation.

 

And then Keith was shrugging off his jacket and coming over to put it on his shoulders. 

 

“What are you doing,” Lance said blatantly, as Keith came into his proximity. Keith tugged the collar against Lance’s neck, and he’s so close that Lance could see the thin chain of a necklace hiding beneath Keith’s sweatshirt. He isn’t sure why that single observation is affecting his respiratory system so dramatically. But Lance can’t help but remember the last time Keith had been this close to him (sharks and fish tunnels and Keith’s strong grip on his arms and telling him,  _ thanks for being you, dumbass) _ . Keith was only there for one second. It’s too soon and not soon enough.

 

“You were shivering.” Keith answered, and Lance almost forgot that he had asked a question. 

 

Lance had to take a moment and remind his body how to breathe.

 

_ What the fuck. _

 

“So…” Keith breathed out, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “What do you want to do?”

 

Lance chewed on his cheek thoughtfully, grateful to fill his head with something other than the smell of Keith’s coat. 

 

Keith started toward his bike and Lance rushed over to help him lift it. They could easily fit it in the back of his car.

 

“How about your house?” Lance suggested lightly, taking the back bike wheel while Keith lifted the front. They backed it toward the truck. “I’ve never been.”

 

Lance turned to lift the back hatch of his car. 

 

“No.”

 

Lance rolled his eyes while he pulled the bike in his vehicle. Brushing his hands together, he sighed. “Oh, c’mon buddy, I’m not gonna make fun of your Hatsune Miku cardboard cutout, I promise.”

 

“Lance. I said  _ no _ .”

 

Keith’s voice was low. Lance’s eyebrows dropped as he swiveled to look at his friend. And his expression further distorted into one of surprise as he took in how...suddenly intense Keith looked. 

 

His hair was dripping and his shoulders were splattered dark with rain, he looked calm but his eyes were steely and his body was too tense.

 

Lance was caught off-guard. _ Fuck, what did I do wrong? _

 

His voice was high pitched as he closed the back hatch of the car. “Yeah,” he said hastily. “Sorry--uh, we don’t have to, uh, do that. We can go somewhere else. N-B-D.” 

 

Keith’s shoulders dropped and Lance saw his eyes close briefly before opening again.

 

“Thanks,” Keith breathed, looking down at his feet and the wet pavement. “Sorry.”

 

Lance gripped the keys in his palm and turned to get in the driver’s seat.

 

“Shotgun’s yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohohohoohoho ending it on a dramatic note ehehehehe.....but it was still mainly fluff. I hope you like the trip to Marty's, it was really fun to write!
> 
> Did you notice what Keith's jacket looked like?


	14. Five Missed Calls, But I'm Just Looking At You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> laaaaaaaaaaaaance did you catch some feelings??? huh??? do u like keith or something....haha....thats embarrassing....

They ended up at Lance’s house. Usually Lance was a bit more creative with his choice of recreational areas, but Keith understood that the weather didn’t allow them many options. And he didn’t mind. He liked Lance’s house.

 

One big difference from Keith’s house was the volume. Loudness meant something completely different here. At Keith’s house, quiet was normal. It was when things got loud that they got bad. But here? You knew something was wrong if the waters were still.

 

Lance was like that, too. Keith wondered if it was a family trait.

 

The first thing Lance did when they got home was announce to the whole house that they had arrived. A monkey-ish boy that had a grin somehow shittier than Lance’s had looked at them and without saying anything, managed to have a completely silent conversation with Lance that consisted of eyebrow wagging and winks and ended in Lance’s ears turning red and exclaiming, “ _ God,  _ Marco! Be fucking mature!”

 

Marco skedaddled up the stairs, bringing maniacal laughter with him, and someone in another room yelled at Lance to control his language.

 

“Let’s go to the basement,” Lance suggested, and Keith took hold of the doorknob gratefully. Keith knew Lance’s basement well. They had hung out down there after school a few times, with Hunk. There were always snacks and good video games, as well as a very comfortable couch. It reminded him of the one in the janitor’s office, but friendlier. It didn’t smell like bleach, which was nice. It was also a lot softer and his entire body sunk down slowly when he dropped himself into it.

 

“What video game?” Lance asked, squatting down below the television, where his video game collection was amassed. Keith eyes grazed over Lance’s back, his busy hands, the way his own jacket sat on Lance’s shoulders. If he was being honest, he didn’t really feel like gaming. Maybe he had before, but he’d been a little more shaken up after the car ride over. After Lance had mentioned going to his house and Keith had instinctively reacted.

 

Which was so stupid. He shouldn’t have made a big deal out of it, he should’ve made up some plausible lie. But his brain had been slow and he’d stupidly seized up and all he could think to say was  _ no. _ He hoped Lance wouldn’t think anything of it, but he knew Lance well enough to know that the chances were slim.

 

“Do you wanna just talk instead?” Keith asked.

 

Maybe there was something in his voice, or Lance had been waiting for it, because he agreed without saying anything and came to the other end of the couch to participate in conversation.

 

“Anything you want to talk about?” Lance said, cautiously. 

 

Keith looked up at a small window that sat just above the ground outside. He thought about conversation topics as he watched two birds fly with each other across the width of the window.

 

“Hunk has a girlfriend,” he said, thinking back to Marty’s. “That’s official now.” Lance snorted, and Keith could see him make a grand gesture in the corner of his eye.

 

“They’ve been official for a lot longer than they’re caring to admit, believe me. I’m glad they’ve finally acted on their feelings, though.”

 

“Hunk said they were going to Homecoming together, that he’s really looking forward to going to dinner beforehand.” He remembered the dreamy look on Hunk’s face when he had described his dinner plans. If he was honest, Keith wasn’t sure he could ever be that smitten with anyone, but he found it endearingly soft rather than annoying, because everything with Hunk was endearingly soft.

 

“Hunk has plans for dinner?” Lance asked. There was something peculiar edging the question.

 

“Yeah…” Keith answered slowly. “He gushed all about it to me.”

 

Lance made a  _ hm _ sound that drew Keith’s eyes away from the window.

 

“What?” he asked, kicking Lance’s calf gently with his foot. “Did I say something?”

 

Lance stretched his arms above his head, gaze fixed on the ceiling. “No,” he answered. “Hunk just...didn’t mention anything to me. Is all. Do you guys talk a lot?”

 

“Mm...” Keith thought about it for a moment. “I guess, but not as much as me ‘n you do.”

 

Lance let out a lengthy exhale after that, and stayed silent for a long moment, head tilted towards the ceiling. If Keith cared to listen, he could hear five different sets of footsteps moving around above them.

 

“You still don’t have plans of going?” Lance said, sounding a little pathetic. Keith couldn’t help himself from smiling faintly. The sentiment that Lance wanted him to go, if only to see him look ridiculous in a suit, made him happier than he would ever admit.

 

“ _ No, _ ” he answered with a laugh. “School dances are dumb.”

 

“Not dumb,” Lance challenged immediately, catching onto the familiar argument that they had had at least three times before. “Fun. Exciting. A vital part of the high school experience.”

 

“Unnecessary and loud. I won’t go unless I have a reason to. And I don’t.”

 

Lance groaned. “You’re a coward.”

 

“I’m not the one who had a childhood fear of Ronald McDonald.”

 

Keith was fairly sure Lance got some form of whiplash from how fast he sat up and hissed, “ _ Whothefucktoldyouthat?” _

 

“Hunk.”

 

Lance’s mouth fell open in shock. “That snake!” he exclaimed, eyes wide. “That was confidential information! I swear he’s starting to like you more than me.”

 

Keith shook his head dismissively, but Lance continued.

 

“Yeah, you know, he told you all that stuff about Homecoming and now he’s telling you my secrets? Suspicious.”

 

“He’s your best friend.”

 

“What else do you guys talk about, huh?” Keith tried to prop his feet up on Lance’s lap but got pushed away with mock disgust. “You don’t get to touch me,  _ traitor.” _

 

“Hunk’s the traitor,” Keith protested quietly, smiling as he attempted to bother Lance with his feet again.

 

Lance swatted a foot away. “But now I’m curious. What do you guys talk about when I’m not around?”

 

Keith pushed his foot in Lance’s face. “We talk a lot about cars and anime. He sends me cat videos.” Lance changed tactics and caught his ankle in one hand, using the other to tickle the bottom of Keith’s foot. When he jerked away instinctively, Lance snickered.

 

“Your feet stink,” he said, scrunching up his nose. “Also, I’m furious. Hunk never sends me cat videos.”

 

“You’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re a dog person, though,” Keith reminded him, going in for another attack. This time he was able to dodge Lance’s hands and reach Lance’s face with both of his socked feet. Lance made a sound that was halfway in between a gag and a yelp and Keith watched in pleasure as Lance’s hands flailed helplessly around his legs. Soon Lance was kicking Keith in retaliation and Keith was laughing and Lance was laughing, too.

 

When all four of their legs were tied together in a tired knot, and their laughter had turned more into amused breathing, Lance said, “Hey Keith?”

 

Keith couldn’t meet Lance’s eyes from their positions on the couch. His eyes stayed on the ceiling. Lance’s voice had that sound to it--the same sound it had had in the aquarium when Lance had asked if something was wrong. It was like his voice was tiptoeing. Keith let out a long breath of air.

 

“Mm,” he hummed instead of saying words.

 

“Um…” Keith felt one of Lance’s legs shift by his knee. “Actually, nevermind.”

 

Keith let it go. 

 

There was a knock at the basement door, then a voice was yelling down to them, “Lance, Mamá wants to know if Keith is staying for dinner!”

 

“What’s she cooking?” Lance yelled back.

 

“Spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread!”

 

“Fuck,” Lance muttered hungrily under his breath, and his stomach rumbled as if on cue. He sat up, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand. The white hood of Keith’s own jacket was pulled over his head, short strands of brown hair poked out from beneath, and Keith was glad he’d given it to him. “Keith, you better stay. My mom’s making  _ garlic bread. _ It’s really fucking good, dude.”

 

Keith thought back to his cell phone, tucked into his shoe upstairs. His father would be working late tonight, and Shiro was at school staying for a meeting about peer tutoring. It would just be him and Mara for most of the evening. He did not want to be around Mara alone. Just thinking about it caused the tightrope in his stomach to wobble. He snagged Lance’s eyes in his own and it helped, a little. He was able to balance.

 

“Can I sleepover, actually?” Keith asked hesitantly. (Of course, logic told him that hell would be waiting for him if he came home tomorrow morning. Logic had also told him that leaving home without telling anyone in the first place had been a bad idea, but here he was anyway.)

 

“You don’t want to go home?” Lance replied slowly, and Keith saw the muddled suspicion and concern in Lance’s eyes. He sensed the unasked questions waiting to jump off Lance’s tongue, how close he was to retracting that  _ actually, nevermind _ from earlier.

 

Lance looked at him expectantly for a reply and the longer Keith stayed silent the more he could feel Lance’s eyes boring into him. 

 

“I want to stay with you,” Keith dodged, crossing his hands over his chest and looking away. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly answering Lance’s question either. 

 

Lance sighed, settling back into the couch. “You can obviously sleep over. Whenever you want.”

 

_ Or need. _ It was unspoken but Keith heard it.

 

He took a breath and felt a small wave of gratitude when that seemed to be the end of it. Lance had yielded. He was leaving Keith alone. For now. (Lance had always been persistent; Keith found it terribly sweet when aimed at others and terribly annoying when aimed at him).

 

“We should go up and eat,” murmured Lance, unmoving on the couch.

 

_ I should tell Shiro where I am so he doesn’t worry, _ Keith thought. The idea of his brother losing sleep over him was what motivated him to escape from Lance’s couch, and pull his friend out from its cushions as well. They trudged up the steps, and Keith had to admit that as the smell of meatballs hit his nose, he felt no real guilt about staying at Lance’s. He knew Mara hated the idea of it being just them almost as much as Keith did. 

 

Lance walked toward the kitchen, telling one of his family members to get their ass off the counter. Keith walked toward the front door, where his shoes were placed. He reached into one and pulled out his flip phone, wincing when he saw the notification for missed calls.

 

**_(5) Missed Calls_ **

**_5:38 PM - Mara_ **

**_5:45 PM - Mara_ **

**_5:58 PM - Mara_ **

**_6:15 PM - Shiro_ **

**_6:16 PM - Shiro_ **

 

**_(10) Missed Texts_ **

 

**_5:26 PM_ **

**Mara:**

Where are you

 

**_5:40 PM_ **

**Mara:**

Answer me.

 

**_5:59 PM_ **

**Mara:**

Fine. Deal with your father.

 

**_6:01 PM_ **

**Shiro:**

hey mom told me you just left the house without telling anyone

dude, again? 

call her back

 

**_6:09 PM_ **

**Shiro:**

keith cmon

i dont want you to get in more trouble 

mom isnt very happy

 

**_6:16 PM_ **

**Shiro:**

seriously im starting to worry.

if you’re not going to talk to mom at least let me know where you are

call me back

 

**_6:20 PM_ **

**Shiro:**

keith just let me know you’re safe

 

**_6:27 PM_ **

**Keith:**

sorry i was away from my phone. dont worry im just hanging out with a friend. staying the night.

 

**Shiro:**

oh thank god keith you are the worst at checking your phone, you know that?

 

**Keith:**

sorry for making you worry.

 

**Shiro:**

mom was worried too.

 

Keith snorted and closed his flip phone with a snap, staring at it in his palm. He knew Shiro meant well, but he didn’t find the attempt at comfort very comforting at all. 

 

“Hey, Keith!” Lance’s voice came to his ears.”How many pieces of bread do you want? My mom made a shitload!”

 

“ _ Lance! Language!” _

 

“OW! Lo siento! Hey, HEY! I said  _ lo siento! _ That hurts! _ ” _

 

Keith’s lips tilted up on their own and he tucked his phone away in his shoe. Then he stood, and went to join his best friend and his family in their loud and full kitchen for dinner.

___________________________________

 

It was late.

 

It was past late. Keith supposed it counted as early, now. He didn’t know the approximate time, but when he woke up on Lance’s couch, he assumed it was some time in the early morning. His mind was still a little slow and groggy. He had pretty much passed out as soon as he had hit the couch cushions. There was a blanket over him now. That was new. Keith guessed Lance must have put it on him, when he had come down from changing into pajamas. Keith let his eyelids droop as he tried to figure out what exactly had woken him up. He didn’t have to go to the bathroom. He hadn’t had a nightmare. There were no loud noises, and besides, he hadn’t woken up suddenly. It had been gradual. But something--

 

_ There. _

 

Someone was touching his ankle, tracing circles around his malleolus bone.

 

The only person down here with him was Lance. Who was supposed to be asleep on the other end of the couch. Not touching his leg. Keith felt like he was intruding on something intimate by being awake.

 

_ Idiot. It’s your leg. _

 

Keith’s foot twitched. Lance’s fingers pulled away, and he heard the change in Lance’s breathing.

 

“Keith, are you awake?”

 

Lance’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

 

Keith stayed still, let Lance think he was asleep, and thanked the darkness of Lance’s basement for obscuring the fact that he was now very, very awake.

 

Lance sighed after a second, and his touch returned on Keith’s ankle, tracing what felt like words on his skin this time. Lance’s fingers were warm and soft and the contact felt nice. Keith had never been touchy, but the fact that it was Lance made it different. He didn’t know why or how, and decided it was too late to dwell on.

 

There was a small burst of light and Keith realized that Lance had pulled his phone out. There’s that small clicking sound of one hand pounding on his keyboard--Lance must've been texting someone. Maybe he couldn’t sleep. It occured to Keith that Lance had never had trouble falling asleep before.

 

He resolved to ask Lance about it in the morning, when he wasn’t half asleep and in risk of ruining a moment he thought was rather nice.

 

So he closed his eyes, letting his thoughts wander back into nothingness.

 

And he fell asleep to Lance’s fingers dancing on his skin.

 

 

____________________________________________________

 

 

**To:**

**Hunkleberry**

 

**2:34 AM**

**Lance:**

hey duuuude i hope your lovey dovey time with shay was nice and romantic and all that shit!!

sorry me n keith ditched but we figured it was better that way.

 

**Lance:**

also you may have been right about me liking keith 

I think I really like him, actually. 

bc its nearly 3 in the fucking morning and i cant stop touching his stupid foot

 

**1:47 AM**

**Lance:**

but AnYwAy gross feelings aside.....do you remember that one time we called keith and talked about music but then it got kinda weird and we were like oh,,, its probably nothing

 

**Lance:**

i dont think its nothing

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi hi hi!!!! here's chapter 14. i feel like its a bit shorter, but the last scene is really nice to me. thanks for reading, let me know what you thought!
> 
> also happy halloween!!!! i'll see you all in november :)


	15. Vagabonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance gets a visit from Hunk

 

**PRESENT DAY**

 

Lance really should’ve been the one to answer the door.

 

He really had no idea that it’d be Hunk knocking, but looking back on it, who else would come by his place before noon?

 

But he’d been on the couch and had been too lazy to get up, and so Nyma had been the one to open the door. Sleepy, bed-headed Nyma who was wearing Lance’s university sweatshirt and nursing a mug of black coffee in her hands. The sweatshirt was too big and yet it hung on her lithe frame in all the right angles.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

 

Lance watched through half-lidded eyes as Hunk took in all of this.

 

“Morning,” Nyma greeted. “How’re you?”

 

Hunk’s eyes narrowed for a split second, too fast for Lance to accurately catch. But a lot of Hunk’s thought process could be presumed through context. For example, Lance already knew that Hunk and Nyma did not get along swimmingly. Therefore, it was safe to say that Hunk was not super pleased to see her in Lance’s doorway.   
  


“Is Lance here?” Hunk questioned immediately. “I’d like to talk to him for a sec.”

 

Lance saw the movement of Nyma’s arm, opening the door wider. 

 

“Sure,” she said easily, breezily. “Come on in. He’s on the couch. Maybe asleep.” Her voice raised on the last sentence, an obvious clue-in for Lance if he hadn’t already been aware someone was here.

 

Hunk bustled in and Lance smiled at him with the hope that Hunk wouldn’t be too bothered by the extra person in his house. Nyma disappeared into the kitchen, presumably to pour herself a bowl of cereal.   
  


“Hey big guy,” he said affectionately, bringing out his hand. Hunk reached to give it a quick squeeze.

 

“Sorry to come by unannounced,” Hunk apologized looking down to him. “I didn’t think you would have, um.” Hunk let out a loud breath as he let himself down onto the other end of the couch. Even though he was experienced with the range of people Lance had over, he never seemed to get more comfortable with it. Lance though it was funny, how his friend had still managed to maintain his shyness.  “...company.”

 

He shrugged. “Nyma isn’t  _ that _ type of company. Besides…” He smiled salaciously. “You should be used to it by now. I’m a busy man.”

 

Hunk blushed, and attempted to cover up his bashfulness with a snort of laughter.

 

“Busy,” he repeated, straight-faced. “So if you’re not fooling around with Nyma, what’s up? I didn’t take her for the sleepover type.”

 

“Then you don’t know her that well,” Lance rebuked. “Nyma and I have sleepovers all the time. That’s a--”

 

“Preconception,” Hunk interrupted, holding up a hand. “I know. But answer my question?”

 

Lance sighed, his eyes trailing over to the kitchen, where he could hear Nyma noisily making whatever she could out of his very limited food supply. Despite what she looked like on the outside, Nyma could be a very private person. What went on in her life was her business, and even though Hunk was his best friend, and Lance trusted him…

 

“I really don’t know if it’s my business to go into specifics,” he said. It came out of his mouth like an apology. “But she’ll be staying with me for a little bit.”

 

Hunk frowned, bringing his whole expression down. “Lance…” he heckled, poking his leg. “Please don’t tell me you’ve gotten into something shady.”

 

“It’s not,” he assured, chuckling. “Really, Hunk. Don’t look like that.”

 

Hunk nodded slightly, but Lance wasn’t sure he was convinced.

 

“Well, the reason I came over in the first place was to tell you about the party Pidge and I are having.”

 

It took a moment for that to process. Now  _ that _ was an oxymoron if Lance had ever heard one. 

  
“Pidge?” he said unbelievably. “Party?”

 

Hunk handed him a piece of paper in affirmation, and Lance saw that it was an invitation.

 

“Close friends and plus ones only,” Hunk clarified. “Nothing overwhelming.”

 

Lance’s eyes scanned the invitation with interest. It was nothing expensive, the thing was on printer paper. But the formatting was so clearly Pidge--there was color coding and everything. Lance was pleasantly surprised to see his name typed out on the top in big bold letters, right above the text reading  _ YOU ARE INVITED!!! _ in cheery font. Pidge had also apparently added a cute little drawing of Lance at the bottom of the paper. It was a mess of brown and blue crayon and Lance really wouldn’t had known it was him unless Pidge had drawn an arrow to it that said  _ my favorite turd  _ in sharpie _. _ It made him unbelievably fond. He was about to tell Hunk he couldn’t wait to go, but the date struck a frown on his face.

 

“Tomorrow?” he said with a little trepidation, looking up at Hunk. “Such short notice?”

 

“Do you have plans?” Hunk asked curiously. “We would have let you know earlier, but Pidge was really indecisive about if they wanted the shindig or not.”

 

Lance looked back down at the invitation, at the brownish scribble that had already made itself a permanent place in his heart. His lips pursed for a second as he reread the information. Pidge had really gone to all the trouble to make him an  _ invite. _

 

“I’ll be there,” he decided. “I’ll just, have to move some plans around.”

 

Hunk heaved out a big sigh. “Thank you,” he said in time with his exhale. “Honestly Lance, you’re the life of the party. Without you, we would just have  _ Matt _ . We’d be playing nothing but computer software bingo all night.”

 

“Oh my god, you’re right,” Lance groaned, feigning disgust. (Well, it wasn’t all feigning.)

 

Nyma came back into the room, spoon held aloft in her mouth and a bowl in her hand. She waved at Hunk before heading straight towards Lance’s room. He hoped that she didn’t spill whatever was in her bowl. He didn’t miss the way Hunk’s eyes narrowed, again. He kicked Hunk gently with his foot. 

 

“Stop that,” he whined.

 

“Stop what?” Hunk protested, throwing his hands up innocently. 

 

“Glaring at Nyma like she’ll attack you at any second.” Lance laid the invitation down on the coffee table and folded his hands on his stomach. Hunk looked down at him almost guiltily, like a child getting caught stealing from the cookie jar.

 

“I wasn’t,” Hunk objected again. “That’s not at all what I was doing.”

 

“Then explain,” Lance draped his forearm across his face, covering his eyes. “Hunk, you know you  _ always _ do this.You did it to Heather, too. And Jenny.”

 

“You’re exaggerating.”

 

“You’re in denial.”

 

“ _ You’re _ getting over exes too quickly.” There was a half-chuckle in his voice, and the comment was clearly not meant to sting, but it did.

“Well  _ you’re  _ overprotective.” Lance’s voice rang out a little louder than he had meant it to, it sounded a little too annoyed, and worriedly, he lifted his arm from his eyes to peer at Hunk. His friend just sighed, without saying anything. 

 

“Sorry,” Lance mumbled sheepishly, quieter. He suddenly felt like there were magnets in his stomach, pulling him downward. He started to feel like he might have had ruined a perfectly nice visit from his best friend.

 

“I’m sorry too,” Hunk said back. “I didn’t mean to press buttons. Did I hurt your feelings?”

 

“Nah,” Lance said, pushing back the urge to tell Hunk that it was all stuff he had already known. “Did I hurt yours?”

 

“A little,” Hunk admitted, which made Lance scramble to sit up. “I’m not trying to be overprotective,” he continued, wringing his hands together. “I just find it hard to trust the people you get involved with. They’re never in your life long enough to get to know, you know? You know I don’t--it takes me a while to trust.”

 

“We’ve known Nyma for years, though,” Lance replied, his eyebrows digging down into his eyes. “Since we graduated, at least.”

 

“But she never dates anyone for long either, Lance,” Hunk countered. “You and her...you’re both vagabonds. I guess I’m afraid of what it will be like for you when--if--what you’re doing ends.”

 

Lance snatched at Hunk’s hand, wrapping his fingers around his friend’s larger, rougher palm.

 

“It’s just living together,” he murmured, looking up at Hunk’s face. At his eyes, which were dark with worry and anxiety that had been there since they’d graduated high school. Hunk looked at his too, like he was searching for something in Lance’s stare. Lance wasn’t sure what it was that Hunk was hoping to find, but he didn’t think Hunk found it.

 

Instead, Hunk broke the moment to peer down at his watch. He sucked in a breath regretfully.

 

“I have a class soon,” he remorsed. “I wish I could stay longer, but I have to go back to my place and get my stuff. Are we okay? I feel good if you do.”

 

“We’re good,” Lance assured. And they were. This was what was so easy about Hunk. They could just be upfront, to the point, no skirting around issues or agonizing over what to do. They worked together, and it was easy. Lance wished his romantic relationships worked the same way. 

 

Hunk pushed himself up from the couch, and Lance had forgotten that they were still holding hands, so he was pulled up with him, then he was being lovingly crushed by Hunk’s all-encompassing arms, and the magnetic downpull in his stomach was weaker now. Hunk always had that effect.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, at the party?” Hunk asked, ending the hug. He looked back at Lance while pulling the heel of his shoe over the back of his foot.

 

“Yeah,” He confirmed.

 

“You’re sure?”

 

Lance grinned, a chortle in the back of his throat. “You said it yourself,” he chided, clapping Hunk’s shoulder. “I’m the life of the party. Wouldn’t miss it.”

 

He watched Hunk leave, until he rounded the corner and Lance lost sight of him. He didn’t notice Nyma until she slid her arms around his waist.

 

“I hope I didn’t start something between you two,” she mumbled into Lance’s neck.

 

“He’ll be okay,” Lance assured. “Did you eat?”

 

Nyma readjusted her head so that her chin rested on his shoulder. It dug a little into him, her jaw was a bit too sharp, but Lance didn’t mind it. The contact felt good. Nyma hummed before answering, he felt her voice vibrate on his skin.

 

“I just had some Coco Puffs. Finished them off. Hope you don’t mind.”

 

“Nah.”

 

The grip around his waist tightened, and Lance found himself being steered away from the window, towards the hallway that led to his room. He let her guide him there, down the hall where his socks slipped slightly on the wood flooring, opening the door so they could get through with her attached to his back like she was.

 

They both stopped in the middle of his room, standing on top of Lance’s dirty laundry that was strewn across the floor. Lance was glad Nyma wasn’t someone who cared about that kind of stuff, otherwise he would feel more embarrassed about the trashy state of his room.

 

“Were you and Hunk fighting?” Nyma questioned. Her fingers intertwined themselves over his stomach, like they were locking him in.

 

“Me and Hunk don’t really fight, Nyma. We just disagree.” She made a sound of understanding, but Lance didn’t think she really got what he meant. He and Hunk were special. He didn’t think Nyma had anyone like that.

 

“I heard you guys talking about tomorrow. Are we going to have to cancel our date?”

 

Lance scrunched his face up. “I was just planning on rescheduling that for later and bringing you to the party as my plus one, if that’s okay,” he said. Nyma hummed her agreement into Lance’s neck.

 

“Sounds fine to me. I don’t have plans unless they’re with you. Do you wanna watch Netflix with me?” she asked next, the change of subject almost jarring. Lance wasn’t sure what had spurred it. Maybe it was just her naturally short attention span. “I’m in the mood to watch an obscure documentary about something I have no idea about.”   
  


Lance found himself chuckling. “Sure,” he said. “Sounds really good.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. school has really been throwing it at me lately, and ive had like no free time :C  
> ANYWAY thank you for reading! i love you! feel free to leave a comment, i love feedback and it really motivates me.


End file.
